


The Straightest Trees

by Sunshineditty



Series: The Warden Chronicles [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineditty/pseuds/Sunshineditty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Hotchner and his crack team of profilers are on the hunt for a sadistic serial killer who cuts his victims in half and dumps their bodies in remote areas next to highways up and down the Pacific Coast. The latest victim was found 15 miles from a small mountain town, a place Garcia calls "the Bermuda Triangle of towns" because people mysteriously vanish or die in suspicious ways. Since nothing can be linked to their unsub, Hotch and company continue through the woods to the Sheriff's department. Welcome to Beacon Hills, population: 30,000 and declining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from Chanakya quote: "A person should not be too honest. Straight trees are cut first and honest people are screwed first."

 

 

"I really don't like the idea of you guys going there."

The profilers could hear the quick clack-clack of Garcia's keys as she sped through the several websites in search of the information necessary to their investigation.

"What's up, mama?" Morgan's flirtatious banter wasn't reciprocated as usual. Garcia looked unusually serious on the small screen.

"This is the Bermuda Triangle of towns, Derek. I'm not kidding either! There have been suspicious deaths stretching all the way back to a large house fire that killed a large family. Only three survived: a Peter Hale who escaped the house, but ended up in a long-term care facility due to severe burns, and Derek and Laura Hale. They were in school at the time of the fire. That's only the first in a long string of suspicious deaths over the last fifteen years in Beacon Hills." The horror in her voice was unmistakable and everyone on the plane exchanged glances. Garcia was pretty susceptible to gruesome deaths, but she wasn't usually this squeamish over just reading about it.

"Any connection to our unsub?"

"Not that I can find, sir. The highway doesn't cut through Beacon Hills; in fact, it runs parallel instead of through the woods surrounding it, but still there is something hinky with this town!"

Hotch touched the tablet in his lap and brought up the same map his tech analyst was consulting. US Route 101 did indeed run parallel to Beacon Hills, but the body dump was within 15 miles of the town, so he still felt it would be prudent to stop in and chat with the local police.

"Tell me what we need to know about the local PD since they are unaware of our imminent arrival."

"Well, there isn't actually a police force since the town is only 30,000 -"

"That's a large enough population to sustain one," Reid broke in, unable to help himself. "There are towns of 300 people with 14 cops."

"Yes, Boy Wonder, but if you had let me finish: Beacon Hills is an unincorporated town and listed as a municipality. They are served by the Beacon County Sheriff's department. Fun fact: the town used to have a larger population in the seventies so the Sheriff's station was built in the center of town, but the economy and animal attacks, has whittled the property values so it's now it's by itself on the north-side of Beacon Hills. The closest properties to it are empty warehouses and an abandoned subway station."

"Why was there a subway station built there?" The curiosity was plain in Reid's voice. 

"It was part of an ambitious plan to bring the Metro Rail north from southern California. It failed in the early eighties, but not before they had already started construction on the station."

"This is all interesting, Garcia, but you still haven't given me the information I asked for."

"Sorry, Agent Hotchner sir. You will be meeting Sheriff Janusz Stilinski; he's been there for nearly twenty years."

"Please call ahead and let them know we're coming."

"Already in the works."

"Good."

The screen winked out as the Skype call ended and Hotch continued scrolling through the documents on his tablet. The rest of the team were immersed in reading the facts as well.

"Do we know why no one ever connected these cases? I mean, the killer's methods are pretty brutal; he cuts his victims in half. This is exactly the sort of case that officers talk about."

Hotch looked up at Prentiss with his mouth pursed. "The bodies were pretty far spread and always seeming to be near small cities or towns surrounded by forests in California, Oregon, and Washington. Beacon Hills is similar in size and location to many of the other places where bodies were found. It's more surprising the report came from Highway Patrol and not the Sheriff's department given the proximity."

The case had come to them from the HSK Database they routinely scoured a few times a year. Since JJ's departure from the BAU, Garcia wrote a program that pinged whenever a geographical similarity popped up for dead bodies. Given the breadth of time - the earliest case dated back to the 1960's - this particular highway serial killer (or killers since they hadn't ruled out a team or pack yet) had worked along the entire Pacific Coast, though they hadn't discovered a particular pattern among the kills since it ranged from old to pre-pubescent of both sexes. 

"So how are we going to play this since we weren't exactly invited to the party," Rossi mused, dark eyes trained on the BAU Section Chief. 

"A lot of police departments won't want this problem and it definitely seems like this section of California has the highest amount of body dumps, though the first time near Beacon Hills. We are here to help catch him so he can't strike again."

"What I want to know is how the offender was able to abduct his victims? There isn't a lot of information on many of them; in fact, a good portion of them seem to be transient while others are from different states or counties than where they were eventually found. And no DNA was ever found on the bodies." Prentiss looked perturbed by this as it meant their killer was well-organized since he’d gone undetected for so long. It was obviously not going to be easy to find him. "The more I read about this unsub, the more I can't help but think of Breitkopf." There was a brief moment of silence at the reminder of the dangerous and cunning serial killer who was probably the most prolific killer they'd ever hunted.

"Even more interesting than that, however, is how they were cut in half," Reid responded absently, his head still bent over his tablet. "Apparently the victims were all still alive when the slicing began and five MEs postulated it was done with large smooth-edged tool, maybe a sword.”

“A sword?” Morgan huffed a laugh. “Isn’t that a little medieval?”

“True, but California hosts some of the largest gatherings of -”

“Reid, not now.”

The doctor subsided beneath Hotch’s stern glare, but the Section Chief caught the faint twitching in his fingers. It was a sign of Reid’s anxiety at not being allowed to finish speaking his thoughts to the natural conclusion. Hotch suppressed a fond smile, though he could tell by the flicker of Reid’s eyelashes he’d caught the amusement. A slight pout formed on the young profiler’s lips and Hotch firmly turned away.

“This unsub is sadistic and extremely cold to be able to watch his victims die as he severs them in half. It isn’t easy to slice through tissue, muscle, organs, and bone, especially with the person presumbly struggling to get away. Yet there wasn’t any drugs found in the bodies according to the toxicology reports.”

“There are drugs subtle enough to escape the tests or even dissipate upon death since many of the bodies weren’t discovered for months, sometimes years.” Reid flipped through his file for a few moments as he scanned through the pictures and papers. “Here’s a thought. What if instead of tying his victims down, our unsub hangs them from their wrists or hands? After a few hours the blood flow would worsen, one or both shoulders would dislocate, and leave them hanging there long enough, they would begin to suffocate.”

Everyone winced at the thought.  Either way the victim died - from blood loss due to the severing or from suffocation - it was done with maximum pain in mind. The unsub didn’t just want them to die, but to suffer endlessly on their way out.

“Huh, this is weird.”

“What did you find, Emily?”

The dark-haired agent shrugged. “The Beacon Hills body was the freshest they’ve discovered yet, only there for about three days and since it’s summertime, there hasn’t been any rain to wash away particulates. The Beacon County ME writes in her autopsy there were granules of a small purple flower ground into the wound, though she doesn’t know yet what it is. The office is waiting on results to come back from Quantico.”

“Once we’ve landed, Reid, I want you and Morgan to drive to the ME’s to take a look at the body while Prentiss, Rossi, and I pay a visit to the Sheriff’s department and start a little local glad handling so we can gain their coordination. We need to get a head of this before the unsub can strike again." Hotch looked at his tablet. "Keep me in the loop and remember to keep a low profile. The citizens of this town don't know about the possible serial killer stalking their highways so we don't want to start a mass hysteria. We will be staying in the Motel 6 on the edge of town, so dress down and try not to look like a Fed."

The others smirked and Hotch huffed. "Fine,  _I_   will try not to look like a Fed."  He grabbed his go-bag and walked back towards the bathroom, ignoring his team's gently mocking laughter.

* * *

The young woman flailed awake, her screams ringing through the house. Her bedmate stirred, a heavily tattooed arm wrapping around her waist as she was forcibly brought back into a leanly muscled chest.

"Shhh, you're safe, shhh."

Her screams continued unabated until she finally slumped in sheer exhaustion, her chest moving rapidly as she fought to breathe.

"They come with swords aflame and war in their hearts." Tears dripped steadily down her pale cheeks even as blue eyes stared blindly ahead. "One will die tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired by two separate Criminal Minds episodes in the writing of this story: S5E17 "The Solitary Man" and S5E20 "...A Thousand Words." I borrowed the concept of the HSK Database so the BAU team would have a reason to journey to Beacon Hills without an invitation (because the FBI is the last thing BH needs again) and Holland Roden (Lydia Martin actress) played a serial killer victim in the 20th episode, which you see shades of in my story.
> 
> I played with TW's canon between seasons 1-3; anything else is completely AU. The map of Beacon Hills seems pretty fluid on the show so I took the executive decision and started pin-pointing where specific locations are in proximity to one another while adding a few of my own.


	2. A Taste of Small-Town Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team learns a little more about the oddities of living in Beacon Hills.

The Beacon Hills' Sheriff was a trim and neatly dressed fifty-something year old with tired blue eyes. His handshake was firm and he seemed welcoming but Hotch couldn't help but think there was something more about this man than met the eye.

"I can't say I'm excited about having you here, but if you think the serial killer will strike again -" he trailed off, his voice leading. His deputy - a Jordan Parrish according to his name tag - stood behind the seated Sheriff, and his hands gripped his belt. Hotch, Prentiss, and Rossi stood on the other side of the desk as no chairs were available for guests. It was clearly a power move, though Hotch didn't necessarily think it was the Sheriff's idea.

"You don't seem surprised about the body."

The sheriff smiled grimly. "Severed bodies aren't exactly new here."

"Really? We didn't find any reports about recent killings with the same M.O."

Prentiss' voice was still soft, but Hotch could hear the thrumming excitement threaded through her tone.

"No, you wouldn't. This one was - oh, eight years or so ago."

"And the victim?"

"Laura Hale." The name was spoken sadly and with a certain weight none of the profilers could identify. They recognized the name, of course, since Garcia had mentioned her family's death by house-burning. It was curious though how she cheated death once, but fell victim to it in a manner that matched their unsub's methods.

"And did you ever find her killer?"

"You could say that. It was eventually linked to Kate Argent; she was also responsible for several other deaths in the town as well as killing Laura's family."

"And where is Kate incarcerated now? We may need to speak to her as she could have shed some light on the killer we're trying to find."

A possible lead - it was only the start, of course, but they'd found their unsubs with wispy information before.

"In Beacon Hills Cemetery with the rest of her family." There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, even if it didn't match the blank expression on his face.

"The...rest...of her family?" Rossi's deep voice filled the space between them. The sheriff grimaced. "Yeah, her sister-in-law committed suicide a year after she died, her father died of cancer around the same time, and her niece was killed in a mugging two years later. The Argents haven't really had the best of luck here in Beacon Hills."

"And what killed her?"

"Mountain lion," he responded with a straight face. "Ripped her throat out."

"And do you get a lot of ... mountain lion attacks?"

Hotch recognized Rossi's sarcasm even if the others didn't.

"You'd be surprised at how many animal attacks we have here. Hunters come through a lot and seem to stir up our animal population something fierce." The deputy's voice was a pleasant tenor and the twinkling in his eyes seemed at odds with the seriousness of the discussion.

"Huh."

Hotch knew he needed to get the conversation back on track. "Is it possible for us to comb through your archives to see if there were any other deaths similar to this, other than Laura Hale's?"

"Welcome to them, if you don't mind tip-toeing through the files. My deputy is always on me to get with the times and scan in the files, but there is something about paper and pen that appeals to me."

Hotch had noticed there wasn't a computer on the sheriff's desk unlike the rest of the desks outside his office.

"You'd get along with our Dr. Reid. He's somewhat of a technophobe."

"He an old codger like me?"

Prentiss laughed lightly, her head tilted playfully. "You're not old at all, Sheriff. And Dr. Reid is our boy wonder."

Hotch knew Emily often used her feminine wiles in the course of an investigation and wondered what had prompted her to pull it out now on the sheriff. He made a mental note to ask her later.

"Parrish will show you the way to our file room."

The sheriff opened a manila folder on his desk in a silent dismissal and the profilers followed Parrish out of the office and down the hall.

"So how long have you worked here?"

The deputy didn't turn at the question, but answered anyway. "Feels like forever, but  going on five years now." The fondness in his voice couldn't be faked.

"You like small-town living?"

"There are benefits and also drawbacks, but I wouldn't change it for the world. I found what I was looking for when I moved here." He stopped in front of a frosted glass door and pulled out a key. Once the door opened, they could see the neat rows of filing cabinets and against the back wall was another door.

"Which cabinets are for suspicious deaths?"

Parrish turned to look at them inquisitively. "All of them, of course. And once you're finished in there, the next room has more."

Hotch could feel his brows rising in surprise. "All of them?"

"All of them."

Rossi said what the three of them were thinking. "We need Reid."

* * *

Morgan and Reid drove across town to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital because, despite the CHP finding the body, the only ME or forensic pathologist in a hundred miles radius worked in Beacon Hills.

The hospital, in contrast to the rest of the town they passed, looked newer as if it was rebuilt in the last ten years.

The sliding glass doors opened with a hushed hiss and the bright lights reflected off the gleaming floors. Morgan and Reid had been in plenty of hospitals in their time and this one did not look like it belonged in this somewhat down-trodden town.

"Hi, have you been helped?"

A pretty dark-haired nurse stopped by where they lingered at the check-in desk. Her blue scrubs high-lighted her fantastic figure and if Morgan wasn't here on official business, he would've been tempted to ask her out for coffee. 

"Yes, ma'am, we're looking for the resident pathologist." He took out the black wallet with his badge in it. Morgan was unprepared for her smile to fade when she read his credentials. 

"Oh, you want the morgue. Take the elevator to the basement and turn right." Her voice reflected her lack of interest, but her dark eyes snapped with banked fire. Morgan was bewildered at what caused such a reaction. Reid held in his amusement until they reached the elevator bank and out of earshot.

"Wow, Morgan, I've never seen a woman turn that frosty that fast before."

Morgan grimaced at Reid's continued poking until they reached the bottom floor. The doors to the right of the elevator were yellow and marked with a strange red symbol he didn't recognize - nor Reid going by the frown wrinkling his brow.

They pushed past the unsettling doors and walked into a cold room filled with silver doors against one wall, a few empty tables in the center, and a brown desk.

"May I help you?"

A blonde woman in blue scrubs similar to the nurse upstairs paused in the doorway leading to another room, her face inquisitive, though both agents noticed she had her hand hidden behind the wall to her left. 

"I'm Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI, ma'am. And we were sent here to look at the severed body recently discovered by the CHP."

She relaxed completely and walked across the room with an outstretched hand. "Of course, Melissa buzzed me to let me know you were on your way down here." She shook both their hands and introduced herself "I'm Dr. Daniels. "I'm sorry you came down here, gentlemen, but the body is gone. He was claimed by his next of kin."

"You released the body already? It was only discovered three days ago!"

Dr. Daniels looked askance at Reid's outburst and Morgan wanted to reach over and flick the genius' forehead. "Well, yes because the sheriff's office didn't have an open investigation and there was no reason to hold the body any longer. I drew out all the tissue samples, did a thorough examination, and sent the blood out for testing."

"Who was the victim?" They only had John Doe listed in the official report that originally drew Hotch's attention.

"His name was Gareth Freeman and he was claimed by his cousin Derek Hale."

Interesting. Derek Hale, the same person whose family died in a large house fire. "And where did he direct the body to be sent?"

Dr. Daniels snorted. "This isn't a large town, gentleman, as I'm sure you noticed. There is only one place it would be sent: Deatons' Family Mortuary."

 

 


	3. The Start of a Really Old and Bad Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid and Morgan learn more about Beacon Hills from an unexpected source.

"This can't be right," Reid complained, inspecting the GPS unit installed in the black SUV Morgan was driving. "This is an animal clinic, not a mortuary."

"Look at the sign, pretty boy. It looks like the two buildings are connected, but the left one is the mortuary."

"God, this is a backwards town," Reid muttered as he opened his door and clambered out. "It doesn't seem...sanitary...to have animals so close to dead bodies. What if one of the animals escapes, makes it into the back, and starts chomping on a body?"

"I assure you, Agent, that has never happened yet and definitely won't in the future," an amused voice answered Reid's grumbling. Both agents looked up in surprise to see a bald dark-skinned man in jeans, a soft red Henley, and a lab coat standing next to the front door of the animal clinic.

"How did you know -?'

The man laughed. "This is a small town and the news of the FBI going to see the sheriff was practically a front page story."

"So much for a low profile," Morgan said in an aside to Reid. "I'm Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid."

"A medical doctor working for the FBI?"

"No, I have a PH.d in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering with three BAs in Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy."

"Ah, so you're usually the smartest man in the room, then." The man opened the class door to the clinic and ushered them in as he turned on the lights in the lobby. "Well, I'm Dr. Alan Deaton, Veterinarian."

"So you're part of the family who runs the mortuary?"

A bland smile replaced the larger friendlier grin. "I am part of a family alright." He let them through the hip-high barrier separating the room and led them towards the back past empty rooms filled with medical equipment. Deaton finally stopped in the back where a large scratched wooden desk dominated a small office. There was a sagging couch opposite the desk and surprisingly comfortable when the two agents sat down at his invitation.

"So what has brought the FBI to my door?"

Morgan brought out his small black book and pretended to shuffle through the notes as if looking for the information, even though he had it emblazoned on his brain. "We are in town because we are on the trail of a serial killer who's used Route 101 as a dumping ground for severed bodies."

Deaton leaned back in his chair. "Severed bodies?"

"Oh yes, Doctor. We've done a geographical profile and this particular killer has been using the 101 since the late 1960s."

"Hmmm," Deaton drawled, one finger stroking his chin as he seemingly stared off into space. "So I'm right to assume you're here for the body found the other day?"

"Yes," Morgan agreed, trying to straighten but finding it hard when the couch sank even further under his weight and dragging him back a little. "A Gareth Freeman? How did you find his cousin so quickly when he was just discovered a few days ago?"

He wasn't going to let on he knew a little about Beacon Hills as he was curious to hear what the good doc would say.

"Derek Hale lives in this town and was expecting his, ah, cousin to visit and when the date came and went, he grew worried." Deaton shrugged. "When we heard about the body being brought to the morgue, Derek went there to check just in case."

Spencer looked confused, a small frown wrinkling his brow. Morgan knew many people looked past his vaunted intelligence and were taken in by his baby-face, so he allowed the other agent to take over the questioning. Often times, he would go in a new direction Morgan himself wouldn't have sought.

"Isn't that a strange conclusion to immediately jump to, that a dead body might be his cousin? Wouldn't most people worry about a car accident or consider he may have changed his mind?"

Deaton wiped a hand over his face and leaned forward, dark eyes intent on them. "Derek is the only Hale left in Beacon Hills because a psychopathic ex set fire to his house and tried to burn his entire family alive. His uncle Peter somehow survived that and went into a long-term intensive care clinic, while he and his sister moved to New York for a fresh start. Laura only came back alone because Peter had worsened and they thought he might be dying. Derek didn't hear from her for a week and when he finally came to Beacon Hills to find her, he discovered the psychopath who had nearly destroyed his world a six years earlier had returned when she discovered Laura still alive and sliced her up. So no, I don't think its strange if Derek automatically assumes someone is dead if he loses contact with them."

Reid nodded apologetically, his doe-eyes limpid with sorrow and Deaton eased back, the intensity in the room dialing down again, and Morgan drew a breath.

"I apologize, Dr. Deaton, it wasn't my intention to antagonize you with my questions. We're just trying to understand the victim's background so we can profile the unknown subject."

Deaton grunted in response. "Derek was able to identify his cousin despite the horrific wounds and wanted to lay him to rest immediately. If you came here looking for the body, it's gone. We cremated him in accordance to pa-family wishes." He stood, and started towards the door. "Now if you'll excuse me gentleman, I need to start my day."

The two agents stood - though not without the couch trying to suck them even further in - and they followed him out. Morgan quickly wrote down his number on a page he ripped out of his notebook. "If you can think of any more information, please don't hesitate to call."

"I don't know what more information I could give you as I've told you everything I know."

The door opened as if to underscore his emphatic words and both agents turned instinctively to see who came in.  

A young man, early twenties, dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt despite the warm day, and a kid perched on his hip walked in, mouth already open. "Dr. D, have you heard about the fucking FBI in town -oh."

Deaton sighed. "Language, Stiles. Come in and meet the FBI. Agent Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid, Wildlife Officer Stilinski. Stiles, Agent Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Daddy, what is the fucking FBI?'

Stiles slapped a pale-long fingered hand over his eyes and groaned. "Buddy, lets not repeat to Pop Pop, Gam Gam, Papa or Mama what special words we learned today."

The little boy giggled, nestling his head against his father's neck. "Okay."

"Yeah, don't think I don't know what that means," Stiles grumbled discontentedly before turning an amber gaze upon the staring agents. "Sorry, I'd shake your hands but obviously my hands are full."

Morgan had the feeling he wouldn't have shook hands with them regardless. "Wildlife Officer Stilinski? Any relation to Sheriff Stilinski?"

"He's my Pop Pop!" the boy shouted gleefully. Stiles put his hand over his son's mouth and gently shushed him. "Yeah, he's my dad. It's too weird to call me Wildlife Officer, so please just call me Warden. Everyone else does." 

Morgan didn't know what to make of the gleam in his oddly-colored eyes. "Uh, okay. So,  _Warden,_ what do you know about the body found on the highway?" It was a long-shot that he would know anything, but it would be prudent to cover all angles.

Stiles gaped for a moment, showing Reid and Morgan a prolonged image of his teeth, tongue, and throat.

"That's what brought you here? The mother-effing-" a quick glance at big pitcher ears changed his words, "body? Gwah. I should've known."

"Why?" Reid looked intrigued by the short-haired warden and Morgan wondered what caught his attention.

"It's never a good thing when the FBI come to Beacon Hills," Stiles said darkly. "It's always the dead bodies with you guys, isn't it?"

The FBI had come here before? Morgan made a quick mental note to make a call to Garcia. Her dark imprecations about the town were suddenly a lot more relevant now they were actually here. So far he hadn't really learned anything important about the serial killer, but he definitely understood why Beacon Hills pinged the hinky-meter. There was something strange going on here - and he wanted to know more.

"So the highway isn't in your jurisdiction?" 

"No, I'm limited to the Beacon Hills Preserve and some of the federal land north of that. There is a small track longside the highway that marks my boundary. I didn't even know about the body until Derek identified it as Gareth."

"You know Derek Hale?"

Stiles snickered. "Uh, yeah, you could say that."

"Well, thank you for your time Dr. Deaton. It was - interesting - meeting you, Warden."

"That's what they all say," he replied cheerfully, expression wiped of all ire. Morgan and Reid exchanged glances but refrained from commenting.

As the door shut behind them, they could hear the murmur of voices start up immediately, though only a few words were clear. And they didn't make sense: "She's having dreams again, Doc. Please help."

How could a vet help with an animal's dreaming? And if it wasn't an animal he was talking about, again how could a vet help?

As they slid into their seats, Morgan took out his flip phone and pressed the speed dial, making sure it was on speaker.

"Oracle of Quantico. Speak if you deign to hear truth."

"Hi baby girl, can you run a background on a few people?"

"You, wish. Me, grant."

"A Wildlife Officer Stiles S-t-i-l-i-n-s-k-i and a Doctor Alan - I'm not sure if it's A-L-L-E-N or A-L-A-N - Deaton. He's a vet."

"Find out who started the Hale fire and what happened to Peter Hale." Reid interjected.

"What's important about that?" Morgan questioned.

"It may be nothing, but I find it interesting that Dr. Deaton stated Laura Hale came back to town because they thought her uncle might be dying, but he never actually explicitly said he died of his injuries, yet Derek is still the last Hale here."

"Interesting. Well, I know the answer to the first part of your question; Kate Argent was the fire-starter and charged with killing Laura Hale posthumously. Hotch called after speaking to the sheriff so I already know that one. Wait, is Stiles his son? If so, who calls their kid Stiles Stilinski? That's cruel and unusual punishment right there."

"Kate's dead?"

"You, my dear Dr. Reid, need moi, Oracle Penelope Garcia, to define the word "posthumously?"" The technical analyst let out a piercing cackle when Reid tried to backtrack and explain that's not what he meant. "Oh rest on your laurels, Reid, I know what you mean. Yes, she was killed by - get this - a mountain lion. It ripped her throat right out."

"How did they know to charge her with the murders of the Hales if she died?"

"Apparently the sheriff was going to the old Hale homestead to arrest her because he'd discovered enough evidence to charge her; he and his deputies were the ones who found her body." Garcia giggled. "Hale, Rossi, and Emily are knee-deep in files right now because the sheriff's office hasn't caught up to the 21st century yet. They need you back there, boy wonder."

"She went back to the scene of her crime?" Reid looked away for a moment. 

Morgan chuckled and ignored Reid's mental wandering. The genius would come back once the hamster on the wheel in his mind stopped running. "Just get me the other information I asked for as soon as your pretty little fingers are done dancing across the keyboard."

"I will have it before Reid can spell Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious."

"Oh, and can you find out if the FBI has been here before? The Stilinski kid implied this wasn't the first time we've come here because of dead bodies. What's that about?"

"And the plot thickens. Later my acolytes. Don't let what goes bump in the night get you!"


	4. Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information leads the team to discover there might be more to Beacon Hills than an opportune site to dump a body.

"Okay, this pile is for animal attacks, this pile is in regards to the Hales, and this pile is any mention of victims with limbs missing."

The first two piles Prentiss pointed to were towering stacks while the third one only had four files. Rossi and Hotch wanted to cheer, but they knew they weren't even close to being done. In the four hours they'd waded through hundreds of pages of paperwork, they'd only cleared half the room. Since none of them could read twenty-thousand words a minute like Reid, they'd done cursory glances through the top part of the file to see if it was pertinent to their current case. So far, the most they'd uncovered was that the Hales had been in Beacon Hills a very long time and this town had a very odd relationship with animals, even for a mountain town smack dab in the middle of a forest teeming with wildlife.

"What's that pile?" Rossi questioned, eyeing the largest stack yet, which she hadn't named.

"It's the I have no fucking clue what the hell was going on stack." Both men blinked at her unexpected vulgarity. "Excuse my French."

"Is any of this information even valid to our case? I mean, what are the odds the sheriff's department has been on the periphery of the serial killer?"

"At this point I don't really care." There was a hint of a whine in Prentiss' voice, though it could be attributed to the bone-cracking sound she let out when she stretched a moment later. There wasn't a table with chairs, so they'd been forced to either lean against the shoulder high filing cabinets or sit on the floor like Prentiss. Hotch moved around a little trying to wake up his legs a little from his enforced stillness. He was used to chasing his criminals across many forms of communication, but he had to admit he was spoiled by Garcia having the world at her fingertips. This wasn't the first time they'd come into a place with little use for technology, but it never got easier. He snorted a little at his thoughts because when the BAU was first formed, pen and paper was the team's only options.

"I don't know for sure," Hotch started, fingers idly flipping through pages, eyes flashing down the ninth report about a night-time break in at the local high school. "This is the freshest kill as most of them were found weeks if not months after the victims died. My gut tells me this is important. Beacon Hills, while not the most populous town near a kill-site, is not exactly off the beaten path as evidenced by CHP finding the body so quickly."

"Right this way."

The agents in the file room looked up at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice, and nodded when Reid and Morgan were shown in by the officer they'd met earlier. "Thanks, Deputy."

"Oh, no need to stand on formality. Call me Parrish." The deputy smiled, his dimples creasing his cheeks.

"Thank you, Parrish," Rossi's deep voice rumbled through the room. Reid pulled his eyes away from the door where the deputy had vanished and exchanged a glance with Morgan.

"This is a weird weird town," the young doctor complained. "We, uh, found out what happened to the body. It was already cremated."

"So soon?"

"Yeah, it was already claimed by Derek Hale and burned yesterday by the vet slash mortician."

Prentiss raised a brow in a credible impression of Hotch. "Vet slash mortician?"

"It's a thing. And we met the sheriff's son; he's a wildlife officer."

"Are we thinking he might be involved?" It was certainly possible given where the body ended up.

Morgan shook his head. "He's too young to be involved in the older deaths and he's just not the type."

"Is it because of the boy? We've met killers who had families."

"No, Reid, he's just too emotionally honest. The sort of killer who could slice people apart wouldn't be so open."

"He could've been acting - you know, flying into the office in an attempt to learn more about us."

"Yeah, but I just don't get the vibe from this guy. And his son was too comfortable with him."

Hotch nodded, content with Morgan's conclusion. Part of profiling was picking up on non-verbal cues and children and pets were useful when trying to learn more about a person. Little kids had an uncanny sense of danger and could be used as indicators of something wrong before they grew old enough to learn how to hide problems from the average person. If Morgan didn't think there was something with the sheriff's son, he would accept the verdict until more evidence popped up.

"What's with all of this?" Reid asked, looking at the various drawers pulled out and the mounds of manila folders piled everywhere. Prentiss just groaned. "This is the result of working without your super-powered brain helping us. The sheriff doesn't believe in technology and has his entire department hand write all their reports."

Reid looked around and then opened a filing cabinet closest to him and began rifling through it. "There's nothing wrong with pen and paper. Did you know that the first paper merchant in America was Benjamin Franklin who started 18 paper mills in Virginia? For hundreds of years the only raw materials that papermakers used were cotton and linen rags until the mid-1800s when they switched over to using wood instead. Of course, cotton and linen rags weren't the original materials used as the Chinese used silk before switching to rags, hemp, grass, and used fishing nets. The Europeans used parchment made from goat and sheep skin and vellum which is made from the lambs, calves, and kids."

"That's interesting in a Reid sort of way, but still doesn't make me wish any less this was all online so Garcia could just do her fingertaps and magic up an answer."

"She doesn't use magic."

"It's an expression, Reid," Prentiss laughingly replied, shaking her head at the agent's literal mindset. "Magic isn't real,but she sure comes close with her ability to make connections between disparate information and provide us with clues to follow."

"Magic is man's irrational attempt to explain what they cannot understand." His fingers stopped as a file heading caught his eye. RFM1214-Stilinski. He pulled the file and opened it. A younger Stiles stared up at him, his head shaved and, interestingly enough, dark brown eyes instead of the amber they were today. "Hmm."

"What did you find?"

"Stiles Stilinski was charged with kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of a fellow student." Reid quickly sped-read through the rest of the file. "Apparently he borrowed a police van so he could kidnap Jackson Whitmore and held him prisoner in the Preserve for two weeks before he was finally found by search and rescuers..."

"You can't leave us hanging."

"The charges were brought up by the boy's father, but then they were dropped nearly a week later."

"What happened to Whitmore while he was out there?"

"Nothing. He was checked out and there weren't any wounds or scratches on him."

The ringing of Morgan's phone interrupted the contemplative silence. He flipped it open and turned on the speakerphone so everyone could hear. Rossi closed the door to the hallway to give them privacy as they listened to their technical analyst.

"Hey baby girl."

"What's wrong? I can hear something's wrong in your voice."

"Morgan is discovering his gut isn't infallible," Reid murmured as he went back to the cabinet to see if there was more information on the Stilinski kid. Even though the event was eventually written off as a prank gone wrong, this was a troubling indicator. He wondered if there was any mention of animals missing around the warden's boyhood home.

"Okay, I have some more information on what you asked me earlier. There is a lot asked of me, so I'm going to go in chronological order."

"Do your thing, mama."

"Thank you, hunk'o'burning chocolate. Alan Michael Deaton went to Penn State and got an undergraduate degree in biology before transferring to UC Davis for veterinary medicine and graduating top of his class. He was hired by a Mrs. Natalie Hale right out of college to work in Beacon Hills."  
  
"Natalie Hale related to Derek Hale?

"His maternal grandmother, sir. So Dr. Deaton was close to the Hale family, but after the fire killed most of them, he left Beacon Hills though I don't think he went to New York with the Hale kids. He must have gone off the grid because I can't find  _any_ mention of him in the following six years except for once. He bought a first class round trip ticket to Japan a year before returning to Beacon Hills. He suddenly popped up here again and reopened his clinic four months before Laura and eventually Derek came back to town. So, moving on to the Hales. Peter Hale is definitely dead; I found his death certificate filed by the Beacon Hills ME. Cause of death: smoke inhalation and a strange growth in his lungs which literally crushed him to death." Everyone could hear the shiver in her voice.

"So his burns didn't kill him?"

"See, this is the really weird part. He was in the Beacon HIlls Long-term Care Facility for nearly six years with ninety percent of his body burned to a crisp. Reading through his medical charts will give me nightmares tonight because his face was literally melted off and they only knew who he was because of where they found him and the process of elimination when they discovered the bodies in the basement."

"Wait a minute Garcia -" Reid broke in, unable to help himself. "The house was burning and they went to the  _basement_?"

"Yes, I know. The entire family, including a few children and two babies, were found near a hidden door. The fire inspector couldn't find any reason why they couldn't escape through the tunnels that were apparently built there. But shush, that's not the weird part."

"Sorry."

"Anyway. There was a series of murders in town with Laura Hale's seeming to spark the rest -"

"Murders? Like the one that brought us here?"

"Okay, do you want me to tell it or not, Derek Morgan?"

"You seem to be skipping over the good parts."

"No, I'm trying to give you a better picture of why this is the Bermuda Triangle of towns." Everyone could hear the irritated tapping as her pen smacked against the desk in rapid succession. Prentiss glared and mouthed "say you're sorry" to him. Morgan silently sighed and did as commanded.

"Thank you. As I was  _saying_ , Peter Hale went missing from the facility along with his nurse. They never found him, but his nurse turned up dead in the trunk of her car with a single gunshot wound to her forehead. There is no official word as to what happened and no one seemed to be trying to find him, but then suddenly a few weeks later, the ME filed a report with the county - and thank god they keep computer records I could hack - and didn't seem to find it strange that his body  _wasn't_ burned and other than his lungs, seemed perfectly health and normal for his age."

"No mention of his burns."

"Exactly."

"What happened to his body?"

"It was cremated."

"Just like Gareth Freeman, the victim found the other day. What is it with this town and cremation? Do they not have a graveyard here?"

"Garcia, did they ever tie Peter and his nurse's death back to the Argent woman the sheriff told us about?"

"You see, that's another weird angle too, Hotch. I did some digging on the Argents, after you mentioned your tete-tete with the sheriff and discovered the family has ties to Beacon Hills as well, outside of Katherine Argent's firebug tendencies. Her older brother Chris and his family moved here and his daughter Allison started school around the same time as the murders. From school records, I can tell you she missed a lot of class during her sophomore and junior years. Since you also had me checking on the sheriff's son, I cross-referenced him too and found the same number of days were missed by him and a boy named Scott McCall. Now I can't find any indication they knew one another, but it doesn't seem like a coincidence." 

Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Did you find anything on Stiles?"

"Well, I found out there is a damn good reason for him to be called Stiles. I don't even know how to attempt to pronounce his birth name other than there are a whole lot of consonants and not enough vowels."

"Anything important?"

"He's a kid who wasted his potential, that's for sure. Now while he's not on Dr. Reid's level of smart, he isn't stupid by far. He graduated manga cum laude and apparently had offers from several different prestigious institutions around the country. Instead of going off to college, however, he instead stayed here, married his high school sweetheart, and had a kid though not necessarily in that order given the date of birth versus date of marriage."

"Seemingly ordinary small-town life," Rossi commented. "When did he become a wildlife officer?"

Garcia was silent for a moment though they could tell she was searching. "Um, he took the test right before his nineteenth birthday and passed it."

"Okay, thank you Garcia for the information. It helps clarify some issues we've come across. We'll call you if we need more help."

"Be unseen and never heard," she replied winsomely before the call disconnected.

"So what exactly have we learned about our unsub," Emily questioned.

Hotch's mouth pursed into the drawn grimace the team was used to seeing in a frustrating case. They had a lot of information but most of it seemed distracting as nothing was piecing together. "We know this is a town used to death, though so far we've not uncovered any leads that may bring us a step closer to catching our killer. Or even understanding him."

"You don't think we may find a link in these files?"

"I don't know for sure. From the ones I've read, the sheriff is a man with a meticulous eye for detail and it shows in his reports. On the other hand, his deputies didn't follow the same protocol, or if they tried, they failed." Prentiss sighed a little. "Are you sure we have enough to even build a profile?"

"We know he is a sadistic and cold person to be able to saw a person in half - this indicates an intense rage, though what he's directing it towards is still unclear. From what I've read and gathered for this case, there doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to his kills: gender, race, age, and religion don't seem to be deciding factors in their deaths."

"Hmm."

Hotch turned towards Reid, noting his furrowed brow which normally meant he was onto something. "What did you find?"

"What was the name of the couple found in Oregon three years ago?"

Hotch flipped through his notebook and zeroed in on the names. "Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, IV."

Reid looked sickly triumphant when he looked up. "They came from Beacon Hills originally." 

 


	5. Tangled Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski sparks an idea in Hotch's mind.

"Sheriff," Hotch questioned as he knocked on the slightly open door. "May I come in?"

Sheriff Stilinski raised his head and waved the agent in. "You found a link to your murder?"

"Maybe." Hotch had decided to question the sheriff himself and left the others to scour the files. "What can you tell me about Eichen House?"

A nameless dark emotion flashed across the craggy face before the same blankness from before shuttered his expression. "Not much to tell except good riddance."

"Why do you say that?"

The sheriff leaned back in his seat and pushed away from the desk a little. Hotch heard a crinkle and saw a fast food wrapper drop unobtrusively to the ground. 

"Eichen House was established as a sanitorium during the second world war, though if you read between the lines, it was really a place for undesirables" The sheriff used finger quotes and Hotch understood. California was notorious for rounding up their Asian residents after the attack on Pearl Harbor and herding them into internment camps. "Eventually it was boarded up until the mid 70's when some doctor decided to use it as an asylum that welcomed all sorts of individuals." He turned a discerning eye on Hotch.

"This isn't about the past, or at least the distant past. You mean why was it closed permanently?"

"Well, yes. More specifically, was the man who raped and impregnated those three girls ever prosecuted?"

"No, because he disappeared soon after his crime was discovered."

Hotch pretended to look at the contents of the file in his hand, though he'd memorized the information already. "What ever happened to Malia Tate, Lydia Martin, and Erica Reyes?"

His sigh seemingly originated in his toes. "Malia's father gave her baby up for adoption at his birth and transferred her to another mental hospital further south. Of the three girls, only she was truly incapable of surviving outside the confines of an asylum. She was nine when she accidentally caused the deaths of her almost her entire family and she was catatonic ever since. Lydia kept her baby and decided to transition back into society with the aid of her therapist." There was a break in his voice before he cleared it and went on. "Erica was in there because Dr. Creager had convinced her parents he could cure her epilepsy with electroshock therapy, which surprisingly worked, but after the whole debacle she took her baby and ran away with her boyfriend Boyd."

"Vernon Boyd?"

"Yes. He too was a patient and apparently they fell in love while living there."

"Why was he at Eichen House?"

"He couldn't prevent his sister from being murdered and tried to kill himself several times."

There was a creak as the sheriff leaned forward. "Now I may be in charge of a small mountain town, but I'm not stupid. You wouldn't be asking me random questions about something that happened six years ago unless it was important. So how does this fit in with the body they found?"

Hotch debated a second before explaining. "Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd were victims found three years ago outside a small town in rural Oregon." He stared at the sheriff for a moment before realization struck. "You already knew that."

"I didn't know they were killed by a serial killer, but I did know they died. I have a passing acquaintance with their families so word reached me."

"But you don't find it strange they died in the same way Gareth Freedman did?"

"Who?"

"Gareth Freedman, Derek Hale's cousin." Hotch felt his eyebrows raise slightly. "Your son seem to know who he was." 

There was a brief moment when Hotch was positive the sheriff would started cursing, though he wasn't sure at what. "No, I didn't know him, but I'm not as... _close_...to Derek as my son is. Stiles is an adult who _doesn't need a minder_." The last bit seemed more like a mantra than anything really being said to Hotch. Eyes like the inner heart of a flame flicked back up to him "So you're thinking the two cases are connected, but you can't figure out how or why the killer would be targeting people with ties to Beacon Hills when all the other cases are seemingly unrelated except for the method of killing."

"Yes." It was true. They hadn't originally thought Beacon Hills was more than a disposal site, but now with three deaths leading back to the town, it suddenly became more important. "My agents are combing through your case files to see if we can find where they all connect." Both warning and fact.

A slight chuckle. "If you can clear my unsolved cases while you're here, that would be great."

"Why was the FBI called here before?"

This time Hotch had no problem seeing the anger on the sheriff's face. "We had a series of deaths which were eventually traced back to a disturbed boy bent on revenge, but it caught the attention of the local FBI office. At first we were glad to have the help, especially as short-handed as we were at the time, but it turned out to be a clusterfuck. My wife's ex-husband came here with an ax to grind because of how things played out between him, Melissa, and their son Scott."

"The ex being an FBI agent?"

"Yeah. Rafe was a heavy drinker when he was married to Melissa and she put up with it until one night he came home and pissed in their son's closet because he thought it was the bathroom. She kicked him out, he caused a ruckus, I got called out there..."

Hotch could see where the story led.  "Did you marry her right after the divorce?"

"God no. My first wife, Claudia, had just died and I had my hands full with Stiles." A vein of sorrow ran through his words. "Scott and Stiles pushed us together for years, but it took...well...life turned out very different than ever expected and we decided it was easier to weather together." His words might suggest practicality, but love turned his lips up into a fond smile. 

"Well, let me get out of your way, Sheriff. We'll touch base with you later, but for now we will keep digging through the old files."

"Good luck," was the genial response, though Hotch was sure he heard a silent  _you'll need it_ tacked on at the end of the sentence. 

A knock interrupted them both. A curly-haired deputy stood on the other side of the frosted glass door.

"Come in, Isaac."

"Uh, sir, uh, there was a 911 call...out to the boundaries." 

Hotch thought it was interesting that Isaac had only pushed the door open instead of coming into the room, and stood with his head bent downwards and his eyes tucked to the side as he spoke. 

"Shit, not the Jorgersons again, is it? I told their grandma I would do more than whip their butts if they got caught tagging signs again."

"Stiles called."

There was a thrumming power to the words that Hotch caught and didn't understand. The sheriff did, however, as he abruptly got up from his seat and grabbed for his keys lying on the desk.

"No, sir, you can't go. He just wanted you to know."

"I don't care what he said, Isaac. It's my duty."

"Not on the Preserve."

Isaac straightened up, his eyes still not directly looking at the sheriff. 

The chain of command was the same in every law enforcement agency across the nation: sheriffs gave the orders and deputies listened. In Beacon Hills they did everything ass-backward and this wasn't the exception.

"Goddamnit, is there nothing I can do?"

The deputy relaxed, shoulders rounding a bit and he shook his head before turning away.

"At least take Parrish with you!"

"He's already on his way, sir."

"Sheriff -"

"Agent Hotchner, I appreciate your attempts to track down a possible serial killer who could be a threat to my town but this has nothing to do with you." The reserve was in full force and Hotch could see he wouldn't break through again as he briefly did when the sheriff spoke of his second marriage.

"You're right, let me get out of your way."

"I appreciate it."

Hotch walked quickly back to the file room.

"Well, how'd it go?"

"I found out some interesting and puzzling things, but more importantly, Morgan and Rossi I need you to follow the deputies on their way to the Preserve. Something is going down there and I need you to find out what. Call me once you have any information." 

The two men nodded and took off with their new assignment. Hotch turned to Prentiss and Reid. "We are going to Beacon Hills High and find out if they have any yearbooks for the last decade in storage."

"What's so important about yearbooks?"

"Erica and Boyd are of age with the sheriff's son Stiles."

"So you think he may be involved?"

Hotch frowned. "I don't know except there's something swirling around the young man. We need to find out if anyone has information on Stiles, a Scott, Lydia Martin, Erica and Boyd." He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia again. It no longer panged him that Haley wasn't number one on his speed dial.

"I haven't finished-"

"Forgot the other search for right now. Who is the current principal for Beacon Hills High?"

"Um, hmm." A few clicks. "A Bobby Finstock. He was originally the head coach for the boys' Lacrosse team and became principal when the last one - oh."

"Oh?"

"The last principal drowned. In the middle of the forest where according to the Forestry Service map I'm looking at has no body of water for fifty miles."

Everyone blinked.

"Thanks Penelope," Prentiss said softly before Hotch clicked the end button.

"Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing around with the TW timeline, plus adding and subtracting details so don't read it thinking I'm following exactly what happened in canon. For purposes of my story, it worked better for me to take bits and pieces instead.


	6. Now What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan and Rossi are in the dark...woods.

Morgan drove by virtue of reaching the driver's side before Rossi. 

Wherever the deputies went, they didn't go with lights blaring, something Morgan could appreciate as a former cop, but irritated him as the agent trying to follow them. Since they knew the deputies were dispatched to the Preserve, Rossi called Garcia to give them directions. She did, of course, but not without darkly muttering they better not end up dead or she would kill them herself. Rossi appreciated being included in her small circle, though he still didn't understand what she said more than half the time.

"Do you notice something strange about Beacon Hills?"

"Which part, Rossi? You'll have to be more specific since everything about this town is strange."

Rossi glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly five. "Sure we're in the mountains, yet as we drove through I noticed a lot of stores are closing."

"So?"

"This isn't exactly a one-stoplight town that rolls up its sidewalks on banker's hours."

Morgan humphed, focused on the narrow road. The highway had straight areas before it would suddenly wind left or right and he didn't want them to die because of inattention on his part. "Is it really that big of a deal?'

"No..." Rossi trailed off unconvincingly, his eyes trained on the woods flashing past his window. He saw a sign announcing the entrance to the Preserve in 3.5 miles and relayed the info to Morgan. The silence filling the cab was comfortable between the two agents as they were introspective men who didn't need to speak all the time unlike others (Reid). When Morgan turned down the access road leading to the Preserve's public entrance they both noted the cop car parked neatly on the right shoulder. He pulled up behind it and turned off the engine. Other than the pinging of the cooling engine, there were no sound indicating where the deputies and Wildlife Officer Stilinski might be, so both agents cautiously walked down the paved road and slipped between the partially open gates. Once past the gates, the pavement abruptly turned into a rock-strewn dirt road and both agents were stumped on where to go. They knew Hotch wouldn't have sent them on a whim, so they didn't turn back but continued further until the road dead-ended at a set of trees. Looking to the right, Rossi noticed a small patch winding through the underbrush and silently motioned Morgan over. There was a stillness to the forest  and they instinctively remained silent, relying on hand motions to converse. Without know why, both had pulled their guns, though the muzzles were pointed at the ground. They weren't as stealthy as either liked, but then they weren't used to sneaking through a forest looking for...something.

Several minutes passed without anything jumping out or hearing anything beyond their movements, so Morgan held up his fist to indicate his decision to stop. Rossi came up to his left and stood close enough they could speak quietly.

"What do you suggest?"

Morgan pulled out his phone and saw there was no service, which didn't surprise him given the density of the woods. They'd gone far enough in that the sun had slipped behind the tree line and only a weak beam illuminated the area around them. 

A chilling howl interrupted Rossi's forming response and they both swiveled to opposite sides, backs touching, and surveyed the suddenly threatening forest. Wolves didn't usually attack humans, but the howl sounded close by and they didn't want to depend upon half-remembered knowledge because animals' actions couldn't be profiled like unsubs. A second howl answered the first and Rossi felt Morgan tense. He looked over his shoulder to see what captured Morgan's attention and would later swear he saw a hulking form briefly look towards him with glowing red eyes before the shape melted back into the trees. 

"What the -"

"Move, move, move!" Morgan shouted, his voice pitched higher than Rossi had ever heard it. He didn't question the command and followed Morgan as the agent heedlessly raced in the direction of the last howl. They crashed through the brush and left a trail a blind man could follow, the branches of low hanging trees whipping past as they ran towards a break in the trees. As they plowed past a large stand of pines, a meadow suddenly opened up and in the middle of the pale golden grass lay a raggedly halved body with Stiles Stinlinski kneeling beside it, caught literally red handed as one bloody hand was on the body's forehead and the other on his chest.

"Oh hell no," Morgan muttered. "Put up your hands, you're under arrest for murder."

Stilinski ignored them and continued doing...whatever...it was he was doing, lips moving as he chanted. Rossi moved closer so he could hear what the younger man was saying, secure in knowing Morgan had his gun pointed at the suspect, but he though he could hear what Stilinski said, he couldn't understand the language he spoke.   
  
"Are you stupid or just deaf?"

Again, no response. 

Rossi risked standing in front of Stilinski and looking down at the body. It was a woman whose facial muscles hadn't relaxed yet and he could still read the extreme agony she experienced prior to death. He hated how young she appeared, maybe late teens or early twenties at most, and anger brought his muzzle to the suspect's forehead. 

"Rossi, what are you doing? Back away from him now."

Morgan sounded like himself again, but Rossi ignored him. "You are going to fry for this, you know. You get your kicks from carving up people like Thanksgiving turkeys? I bet your son will be real proud when he hears what you've done." There wasn't any change in the chanting and Rossi had enough, anger controlling his actions. He reached out and tried to drag Stilinski away from the body, except he couldn't move the younger man at all. The moment he touched him, an electrical current seemed to surge between them and Rossi found himself flung a few feet away with Morgan crying his name. He landed on his back and lay there for a moment as he tried to assess the damage to his body. He moved his head and felt pain race through him at the change in position.

"Rossi! Rossi! Rossi!"

Morgan now sounded frantic, though he hadn't moved from where he stood with his gun still pointed at Stilinski. "I'm okay. My neck and back hurt but otherwise I'm fine."

"Fuck this noise," Morgan shouted and rushed towards their suspect. Suddenly a large black beast burst from the other side of the meadow with a deafening snarl, stalling Morgan from his forward charge and forcing Rossi to ignore his protesting body to bring his gun up.

The hellhound stopped behind Stilinski's back and dug its paws into the ground, every muscle in its huge body tensed to lunge. Rossi pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet slammed into the beast's side, altering his trajectory enough to miss Morgan. The animal jerked around in an unbelievably athletic move midair and somehow contorted itself to land on all four legs instead of its side as Rossi intended with his shot. Rossi frantically fired again, but as before, the bullet hit animal and didn't put him down. Morgan didn't bother firing his own weapon and dropped it so he could grapple with the two hundred pound...wolf? Dog? It reached him and bowled him over with its bulk despite Morgan's fighter's stance and Rossi lost track of him under the heaving growling black fur.

"Stop this," Stilinski's voice unexpectedly cut through the noise. "I'm okay, D, I'm okay."

Rossi had regained his feet, though his body protested angrily, and sighted his gun on the beast again. "Call your dog off or this bullet goes through his head."

Stilinski whipped around with a credible snarl on his face. "You fucking touch him again and I will gut you."

"Call him off now!"

"Alpha!"

The growling had stopped and with a shudder, the dog? wolf? pushed off Morgan to trot back to where Stilinski stood and whined up at him until the man kneeled. The hellhound nosed at his neck and circled him as if checking his master was okay. Rossi shook his head at the sight before hurrying over to the downed agent, mind trying to find a way to get both Morgan and the suspect back to town. Morgan lay still and Rossi braced himself for torn flesh and lots of bleeding so he was dumbfounded to find nothing as expected.

"You okay, Derek?"

Rossi distantly registered startled movement from the dog, but most of his attention was focused on his co-worker. Morgan opened his dark eyes and said, "How the hell am I alive?'

"He wasn't trying to kill you, not really," Stilinski retorted angrily. "He was just trying to protect me. Trust me, if he wanted to kill you, you would've never heard him coming."

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

Stilinski shrugged. 

Rossi helped Morgan to his feet and watched as the other agent rolled his shoulders a bit. His olive colored Henley was rucked up and his pants ripped a bit, otherwise the agent appeared fine if a bit flustered.

"You're still under arrest for murder," Morgan said to get everything back on track.

"I didn't kill her."

"Let me guess, you found her like this?" Rossi chuckled cynically, his gun raised again despite the renewed growling of Stilinski's dog. This time, however, the beast leaned against his master's side.

The man sighed. "I did, though I know you don't believe me. I was doing a walk about as usual and found her." There was sorrowful note that Rossi ignored despite how genuine it seemed. It wouldn't be the first time a killer felt remorseful for killing, but dead was still dead no matter how sorry someone was after the fact. 

"And you were touching her so you could figure out how she died?"

The kid was really irritating with his eye rolling. "I could figure out how Malia died by looking at her...body."

Both agents snapped to attention at the name. They'd recently heard it when Reid discovered the link between the Oregon deaths and Beacon Hills. 

"It's really interesting how death seems to come to the people around you, almost as if you had a hand in it," Morgan pondered aloud while one-handedly unsnapping his cuffs from its place on his belt at his back. 

"You have no idea," Stilinski muttered before pushing the dog away from him and standing. "You gonna read me my rights so we can get this farce over? You'll figure out I had nothing to do with it and then hopefully you'll go back to tracking the right killer." Rossi noticed his eyes had flickered to the hellhound at his feet when he said the last bit, almost as if he were talking to it more than them.

Morgan wasn't gentle with his cuffing and he made sure to close them extra tight as he recited the Miranda warning.

"What can we do now? We don't have any cell service out here and we need techs here to start processing the body."

"How can we bring in Stilinski without alerting the sheriff?" And where exactly were the deputies?  Rossi suddenly remembered the men who started the whole trip in the first place. The gunshots weren't quiet and should've warned them a confronttation going down.

"Oh, don't worry, Dad won't interfere with official business. Besides, I won't be in custody long enough to really worry him."

"You forget we're the FBI and we can hold you over the weekend since it's after 5 PM and no federal judge is around to set bail."

"Trust me when I say, you won't be holding me very long." A thin smile curved his lips and Rossi internally shuddered at the sight. There was something  _off_ about the kid though he couldn't quite pinpoint it; it was more than the regular psychoses most serials exhibited and something _else._

"I will stay on scene and you take the suspect back to the cars. The deputies should be back by now and would've seen us parked behind them. Put him in the back and tell them to radio for help."

Morgan looked uneasily at the now docile dog lying down with his head on his paws, eyes looking up at them. It looked like a really big dog now instead of the beast from hell, but Morgan didn't trust him even if he hadn't actually done any damage to his body.

"Alpha, go home." Stilinski snapped. "I'm fine and will be safe at the police station."

There seemed to be some sort of staring contest between them before the dog rose to its feet and grumbled at Stilinski. Stilinski commanded him to leave again and the dog finally retreated, though not without looking over his shoulder at them every few steps. Finally it bounded into the trees and vanished from sight.

"Rossi, we'll both go and tell the deputies to stand guard over the body until we can get people out here."

"Just so you know, we don't have any anyone to process the scene," Stilinski smugly told them as they trudged across the meadow. "We just have Ms. Morrell or Dr. Daniels."

Morgan and Rossi ignored him even as they looked at one another behind his back. This could be a problem.

They were able to backtrack to the road and followed it to where they last parked their car, but were dumbfounded to find the cop car gone. 

"Hmm, now what?" 

Morgan responded by roughly shoving their suspect into the back of the black SVU and slamming the door shut.

Now what indeed.


	7. Finstocking We Shall Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid meet Principal Finstock.

The man standing in front of the school was wearing athletic shorts, a white t-shirt, and running shoes. 

"Principal Finstock?"

The man looked up from his phone and winced. "Don't call me that. Call me Coach, or Cupcake, if Coach is too formal."

 _Cupcake_? Reid mouthed, brown eyes wide with bewilderment. Prentiss turned away to hide her obvious amusement, and Hotch stepped forward to shake the man's outstretched hand. Except instead of a handshake, he was pulled into a rough hug with one quick manly pound to the back before ejected from the embrace. 

"I know it's rough, and oh yes, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or learn from it." He cleared his throat. "When the world turns its back on you, you turn your back on the world!"

The agents looked at one another in confusion then back Finstock, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. Reid looked perplexed for a moment then, "Did you just quote  _The Lion King_?"

"Um, Coach, do you know who we are?"

This stopped the pacing man. "Of course I do! You're, well, you know-"

Hotch withdrew his identification, feeling absurdly pleased when the other agents mirrored his actions. "We're with the FBI Behavioral Unit from Quantico."

"Goddamn FBI can't keep their nose out of our business. We don't mess with you, so why do you keep messing with us?"

"Uh, our tech analyst called earlier requesting copies of your yearbooks..." Reid trailed off.

"Oh that fine woman, Peen-a-lope." Coach gave a dreamy sigh, as his eyes looked off in the distance. "You'd think I'd learn my lesson about fine-tuned engines, but, well, when you've been in the belly of the beast, you don't mind a little filet mignon." 

There was something seriously  _weird_  with this guy.

"We're here investigating a murder that took place on the highway," Hotch began. "There was a body found a few days ago and some information has led us to believe the suspect may be from this town."

"Ha! Usually the killers aren't from around here or are drawn by the beacon." Coach sighed and shook his head. "Thank god for the warden to guard the gates."

The agents exchanged glances again as his words. They knew from Reid and Morgan's earlier account that Wildlife Officer Stilinski preferred to be called Warden; but how did guarding the gates factor into this?

Coach led them through the door leading into the Front Office and flipped on a few switches to illuminate the room. He didn't stop, however, but continued down a corridor that lead to a large hallway lined with lockers. There was an eerie stillness to the building as if it held its breath in anticipation of returning students. Hotch mentally flicked the fanciful thought away and followed their tour guide to the library.

"Who're you looking for, exactly?"

The question was the first time he'd spoken to them since letting them into the school. Reid spied the yearbooks grouped on a shelf against the wall and made a beeline for them with Prentiss hot on his heels. 

"A Stiles Stilinski."

"Stilinski, Stilinski..." Coach rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Name doesn't ring a bell. Unless you mean the sheriff? Nah, you couldn't mean the sheriff. He's the judge, not the executioner." He turned to the corner opposite of where Reid and Prentiss diligently scanned through books. "Greenberg, you remember a Stilinski?"

Hotch wanted to rub the ridge above his brow in consternation at the seemingly wacky antics of the principal. Was the man truly insane? Or acting out?

"No, sir, I don't remember any Stilinski."

Hotch whirled with his hand automatically going to his gun and he distantly heard the thud of two books hitting the ground, which assured him the others were situationally aware.

A...boy...dressed in jeans and a tee unfolded from the shadows and slowly walked towards them, his steps measured. Hotch squinted as the outlines of the teen were blurry and he seemingly wavered like heat rising from baked concrete. 

"Nope, no Stilinski."

Prentiss and Reid hovered at Hotch's shoulders and he relaxed a fraction, hand cautiously lowering, though his jacket remained tucked behind his holster. 

"Ah, where did you come from?"

The boy smirked before pointing behind him at a door Hotch would swear wasn't there before. Coach looked at the three of them strangely, eyebrows raised. "You sure you should be hunting a killer when you jump at ghosts?"

"Don't you mean shadows," Reid corrected. " _Jump at shadows_ is the expression."

The coach's brow furrowed. "Shadows, ghosts, what's the difference?"

"Well, a shadow is a dark area or shape produced by a body coming between rays of light and a surface while a ghost is an apparition of a dead person that is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image."

"Do you believe this guy? As if I don't know what you are," Coach scoffed, eyes turned towards Greenberg. The kid shrugged and leaned against the closest bookshelf. "You know how it is, Coach." 

"Don't I know it. Don't I know it."

There was a weird vibe flowing between the two that baffled the profilers watching them. The usual ideas of sexual perversion, pedophilia, and ephebophilia was dismissed as fast as it occurred to them and they were stumped. It wasn't a common feeling to any of them, though fast becoming a familiar feeling in the hours spent in Beacon Hills. 

"So, is there anything else I can help you with?"

Prentiss had walked back to the shelf with Reid again and Hotch continued the informal questioning.

"So, you don't know a Stilinski, but do you remember a Scott or Boyd."

"Boyd, Boyd...oh, yeah, he helped us win a Lacrosse game. Those were the good days, back when most of the line had  _abilities._ Saddest day of my life when they all graduated."

"How did Vernon Boys play for you when he was committed to Eichen House?"

The question seemed to jar Coach from his reminiscence. "Eichen House? Why would he -- ohhh." There was no verbal followup to his epiphany, though Hotch saw Greenberg draw his arm back and he wondered if he elbowed the principal. "Yeah, McCall was a good kid. Too bad about his unfortunate friends, but you know, that's high school for you."

"Unfortunate friends?"

"What, do you double as a parrot for fun? Yes, _unfortunate friends._ He liked the hunter girl and boy did I try to talk him out of that one. Psst, but he was in  _love_ and couldn't be turned away. Of course, there was his best friend Biles Bilinski. Best damn bench warmer I ever had - his butt imprint is still in the wood but biggest damn menace on the damn planet. I was thankful when _he_ graduated. Then I stopped getting random papers on various mammalian genitalia."

"Biles Bilinski - you mean Stiles Stilinski?"

"Who would name their kid, Stiles Stilinski? That's absurd."

Hotch definitely rubbed his brow now despite his audience. He was desperately glad to be pulled away by Reid's insistent call.

"Excuse me."

Coach sniffed the air. "Did you fart? It's okay if you did as it's a natural bodily function, but I gotta say man. There's a bathroom down the hall."

Hotch stared at the man and then walked away.

"What did you find? And please tell me it's something useful."

Reid showed him instead. The yearbook was opened to the sophomore year Lacrosse team photo; following Reid's finger, he saw  _Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd, Jackson Whitmore,_  and  _A. Greenberg,_ followed by a series of other boys' names. He matched the names to the faces, though it was hard in three of the boys' cases since their faces were turned slightly away and eyes tilted down. Only Stiles and Greenberg stared straight ahead, their faces stern despite their youth. Reid then flipped to another page and he saw two girls seated by each other, heads thrown back in laughter. Their names in the caption read: Allison Argent and Lydia Martin. 

"What about Erica Reyes?"

Reid pursed his lips. "I did find her, though the difference between her Freshman and Sophomore pictures was quite remarkable."

"How so?"

Reid picked up another year book and showed Hotch the grainy black and white picture of a young girl dressed in clothing from a decade ago. Long stringy blond hair was in her face and she peeked out at a sideways slant. Her posture showed defeat and the desire to hide herself away from the prying eyes of the world. Her sophomore picture was so different, Hotch wouldn't have known it was the same girl were it not for the name. In the newer one, her hair was pulled back into a stylish ponytail, face made up with black eyeliner and red red lips, and her neckline was so low, it was cut off by the bottom frame. The smirk hidden in her eyes showed confidence and desire to hit back at the world where it would hurt the most.

"What happened between these two years for her to change so drastically?"

Prentiss compared the two yearbooks. "We know she was diagnosed with epilepsy at a young age, and this first photo shows a girl who's beaten down by her disease. The second photo is a girl whose been cured, or at least in remission, but the time of year is off. She was sent to Eichen House during the summer prior to the start of her Junior year due to a radical new procedure, so why does she look like this  _now_?" She sighed a little. "I am really starting to hate this case. Nothing we've found makes sense. Could we be looking at this wrong?"

"What do you mean, Emily?"

"Hotch, I think we need to find out how Freeman is connected to the  _girls_ and not treated as an isolated case."

"Elucidate."

"The more information we get, the more we see how everything is tangled up with Beacon Hills and its checkered past. Stiles was best friends with Scott whose mother is married to the sheriff. Allison Argent dated Scott and was best friends with Lydia Martin who was committed to the asylum at the same time as Erica and Boyd were. Boyd played Lacrosse with Stiles and Scott and, Jackson Whitmore, whom Stiles tied up for two weeks and left in the forest." She drew a sharp breath as the wheels started turning faster. "What if the issue at hand isn't Stiles, but Eichen House? We  _know_ something incredibly wrong went on there, which resulted in three girls being traumatized for life by the method of how they became young mothers. We know two of them held onto their kids, and -"

The phone rang, interrupting her flow. Hotch apologetically held up a finger to indicate it was an important call he had to take.

"Morgan, what's your status?  _What_? Okay, yes, we'll be there as soon as possible."

"What's going on?"

"Morgan and Rossi found another dead body in the forest. This time Malia Tate."

"Now I'm sure this fits! Erica dies, now Malia...they never caught the perpetrator who raped these girls, so what if he's coming back to kill them and finish whatever he started all those years ago? We need to find Lydia Martin and her child."

"You may be onto the right path, but there is something you should know: Stiles Stilinski was found with the victim."


	8. The Fox Has Many Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch meets Stiles - it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Morgan, Stiles, and Hotch popped into my head one day while watching an episode of CM. The suspect looked somewhat like Dylan O'Brien and I could see it all so clearly - the backstory came later.

"That's what happened out there."

Hotch stared at his long-time friend with his hands on his hips. Rossi was the most level-headed and skeptical person he'd ever met; the man couldn't believe anything unless he could see, touch, and weigh it. Yet he said this.

"So, you're saying you saw a red-eyed man-sized creature in the forest, you got zapped when you touched the suspect, and you shot a wolf-dog point blank and it walked off unfazed."

"When you say it aloud, it does sound pretty ridiculous."

It did. But this was _Rossi_. 

"Aaron, we had to go out to the road a ways before we could use our cells to call in the body. Except Dispatch told us they were already aware and had sent officers to the scene.  We were less than ten minutes behind the two deputies, yet they were able to find the body and presumably Stilinski, hike back, radio it in, and leave without Morgan or I ever hearing or seeing them going in or out."

"But the sheriff, more officers, and the ME did show up."

"Yes they did. And even stranger, when I told the sheriff about his son, he merely shook his head and sighed, but never once offered a word in defense of Stiles."

Rossi turned back to the two-way mirror separating them from Morgan and their suspect as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There's something  _off_ about this town."

Hotch was starting to believe the same thing as the sheriff hadn't returned to his station when the rest of the officers came back. Law enforcement around the country followed the same rules, but since they arrived in Beacon Hills, everything was topsy-turvy as if they'd stumbled down the White Rabbit's hole into Wonderland. Both men didn't say what they thought aloud nor did they look at one another yet they'd been friends long enough to know the other felt the same way: skin-crawling unease.

* * *

 

 Morgan stared at a silent Stiles, determined to outwit the suspect. The younger man was extremely mouthy in the car, but as soon as he was taken into the station, he'd gone quiet and hadn't responded to any of Morgan questions, so he decided to try a new angle.

"Feeling ashamed to be dragged in front of your father's deputies?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You act as if this is the first time they've seen it happen." This was true. Morgan was a little surprised by the blase attitude of everyone when they caught sight of Stiles. Some heckled him and asked what he did wrong now while the rest just sighed and turned back to their paperwork. It wasn't exactly what Morgan expected, especially when he announced Stiles was under suspicion for murder. A blond deputy had shaken his head and said, "In trouble with the FBI again? Geez, Stiles."

"This time you were caught red-handed by us!"

"And how exactly did you find me to begin with? Did a concerned citizen call it in? Oh wait. That was me. There is no way you would've known to go to the Preserve without me telling Isaac about the body."

"You told him about the body?" Morgan skeptically asked.

"Of course I did, Agent Morgan. He's my friend, but he's also an officer of the law." There was a mocking lilt to his words, though Morgan wasn't sure what exactly he was mocking. "And you didn't find a weapon nor are my clothes as bloody as they should be if I was the one who hacked Malia to pieces. If we had a proper lab tech, they could tell you that the blood spatter was inconsistent with a sawing motion, or whatever you want to call using a sword."

Morgan didn't react to the taunting words, though his interest was piqued by Stiles' knowledge of what type of weapon was used. He could only know it if he was the perpetrator, but Morgan wasn't going to point this out, not while Stiles kept talking.

"So tell me what you were doing with her body then? Checking it for a pulse?"

"Not exactly." For the first time since he sat in the chair, Stiles averted his eyes. It was only for a second, but it was long enough to pique Morgan's interest. 

"So...what  _exactly_  are you doing that requires you to touch a severed body? Most people I know who come across a body, especially a hacked up one, don't commune with nature or whatever bullshit you were pulling back there. They freak out, hyperventilate, or hell, pass out. Scream a little."

Morgan could feel his face flush with emotion as he rattled off  _normal_ people's reactions to death; Stiles just sat there with a blank expression on his face.

"You maybe a decent agent but you're a shitty investigator. If you had researched me even  _a little_ you'd know Malia isn't the first dead body I've come across. Fuck, this isn't the first dead body I've found this  _year_." Stiles smirked a little, though it seemed forced as no emotion touched his queer-colored eyes. "Oh, you  _didn't_ know that I see. Yeah, hiker got lost in the preserve at the start of summer and died of dehydration when she fell into a ravine and broke both legs. Animals tore the body up as different species sought out the succulent parts they like best on free meat, so Malia wasn't even that particularly gory. At least she still had a  _face_."

Morgan gaped a little before he caught himself and closed his mouth. This was the first time in a long time he was caught flat-footed by a suspect's emotions and he was a little intimidated by Stilinski, which caused shame to immediately well.

"You're a puppy," Stilinski subsided, returning to the blank automaton, "I want more than a jumped up beta pretending to be an alpha. I want your  _real_ Alpha."

 _Alpha_? 

Morgan instinctively turned to the mirror where he knew Hotch and Rossi were watching. A moment later the door opened and Hotch walked through. He wasn't wearing his usual suit, yet he looked the same: unsmiling and fierce. A knot in Morgan's gut unraveled with relief despite his internal irritation at himself. He was a man who didn't need others to fight his battles or question his suspects, yet he couldn't deny a certain gratitude that Hotch was there. 

Stilinski kicked the chair across from him so it popped out from under the table. "Have a seat, Agent Hotchner. You must be tired after a long flight and tromping through our lovely town."

Hotch didn't move nor express any surprise at Stilinski knowing who he was. It made sense since this  _was_ a small town and the suspect was the son of the sheriff. 

"Mr. Stilinski," a pause, "I apologize. Warden Stilinski."

Hotch didn't accept the invitation to sit and instead leaned against the back wall and subtly eased his posture so he looked more approachable. Stilinski grinned, his head cocked slightly to the side so his neck was bared. Morgan was surprised by the inherent sincerity in the gesture; for the first time all day, Stilinski wasn't posturing and he was actually submitting to Hotch's authority. Apparently there was a kernel of truth in his Alpha-beta comment.

"We're all old friends here, so you may call me Stiles."

"Stiles," was Hotch's polite response. "Please tell me exactly what happened in your own words." Morgan settled into the corner of the room, his back to the wall as he surveyed the initial feint in the battle between the older agent and their suspect. 

"I knew Malia, a little, from the Eichen House, when I, uh, was visiting the others," a lie, though not clear why he lied, "so, you know, it was weird to come upon her body like that. Especially when her father promised he'd let us know if she was ever released."

 _Her father_? Morgan was too well-trained to look at Hotch  so Stiles wasn't aware he let another interesting nugget of information loose. And who were the others implied in "us?"

"Ah yes," Hotch mused, "which brings me to the crux of our problem. We've discovered the most recent dead body was supposedly Mr. Hale's dead cousin, yet strangely he was employed at the Eichen House around the same time as those three unfortunate girls were impregnated. And then two of those girls are now dead as well, though we haven't found out where their children are."

Morgan knew this was new information so Penelope must've called recently; he would've smiled if he weren't in his current position. He noticed Stiles tensed, even as his face showed no reaction. "Erica would've left her kid to her aunt, the one she was living with when she died, and Mr. Tate gave up custody of Callie."

Interesting how Stiles knew the baby's name when even Penelope didn't - the adoption was a closed one and sealed with enough red tape Penelope risked being asked a lot of uncomfortable information if she hacked into the database without a warrant. 

"And you knew Erica died, how, Warden - pardon me - Stiles?"

"I know you know I knew her, so lets cut through the bullshit. I was friends with both Erica and Boyd in high school, so of course I knew they were murdered a few years ago while they were living in Oregon on her aunt's compound and they never found out who killed them. And yes, I know Garreth worked at Eichen House during the time when _t_ _hat_ happened, but he wasn't involved in  _that_. Him coming back to Beacon Hills when Malia did was pure coincidence."

Hotch nodded slowly as if in agreement. "I'm curious as to how a girl committed to an asylum a few hundred miles south and in a catatonic state was able to miraculously make it here." He waved his hand as if to wipe away his words, a self-deprecating smile stretching his mouth. "I think there is something more important we need to speak about, however. There is a common denominator between all three cases and one more. Tell me about your wife, Lydia Martin. Wasn't she the last victim of Dr. Crevor and your son is, in fact, not your son?"

Stiles exploded from across the table, his body tensed with outrage as his chair slammed into the wall behind him with enough force Morgan flinched reflexively even as his hand dropped to the gun at his waist. "She was never a  _victim_ and don't you ever say differently," he positively spit. "She went through more than you'll ever understand and she's a fucking goddess. You bring my family into this and I swear by the Nemeton you won't enjoy the consequences."

The lights flickered and both agents involuntarily looked up at the ceiling despite the simmering threat currently cuffed to the table. Rossi opened up the door, his gun half drawn as he looked at the tense tableau.

"Everything okay, Aaron?"

Hotch straightened from his intentional slouch, hands in plain sight as if to show he wasn't afraid of Stiles' emotional outburst. "Oh, I think we're getting along just fine. Morgan, uncuff the warden please."

"What?!" Both Morgan and Rossi squawked at the same time. Stiles raised his head and stared gobsmacked at the BAU Chief, caught off guard for the first time. "Excuse you?"

Morgan resisted at first, but Hotch's raised eyebrow of doom pushed him into action and he strode across the room and did as his boss asked. He would definitely be having words with the man later. 

"The ME called with the apparent time of death, which when checked against your movements, would put you squarely in the clear."

Stiles pursed his lips. "You're lying."

He used the truth like a blunt object as he called Hotch out. Morgan knew enough about forensics that, despite what TV shows said, time of death wasn't always easy to pinpoint and the body hadn't been in the morgue long enough.

"Does it matter if I am or not since I'm freeing you?"

The logical prosecutor hidden beneath the FBI badge calmly questioned Stiles.

"It is if you're releasing me with the intent of following me so I can lead you to my dastardly compatriots in this grand conspiracy theory you've cooked up," the sheriff's son responded. He looked at the other two agents standing in the room and stilled. "You're missing some numbers here." He cocked his head and his eyelids went half-mast as he seemingly looked  _through_ the opaque mirror. "And they're not in the building." 

All three men shivered at the same time at the iron certainty in his voice. 

Stiles straightened to his full height and his lanky body seemingly morphed into a hulking presence which raised the hairs on the backs of their necks as his voice slipped into a lower register. "If you make her cry..."

He strode out of the room without finishing his threat.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written this chapter twice as I stupidly deleted my original copy thinking it was something else, so the re-write isn't quite what I wanted to say, but I was so disgusted with myself I sort of wanted it over and done with as soon as possible.


	9. Velvet Brutality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by Lilyoftheval5 though I'm using it in a slightly different context than she did.

Lydia and Stiles lived on a quiet tree-lined street towards the outer edge of Beacon Hills that abutted the Preserve. It was nice two story house, but quite a come-down from a girl who once resided in one of the gated McMansions actually on the hill that gave the town its name. Reid and Prentiss saw a dark mini SUV parked in the driveway and the living room window glowed behind gauzy curtains, alerting anyone watching that someone was home. The front porch light flickered on once they reached the front door and a moment later a petite redhead looked at them through a screen door.

"Yes?"

Her voice was a little rough as if she'd just awakened from a nap.

"Good evening, I'm Special Agent Emily Prentiss and this is my colleague Dr. Spencer Reid -"

"The author of _Unitary Triangularization of a Nonsymmetric Matrix_ and _Variational Methods For the Solution of Problems of Equilibrium and Vibrations?_ (1)"

Reid looked at the pretty female with a dumbfounded expression on his face. "You've read my work. How? Why?"

Lydia shrugged. "I like to read."

"Ph.D level Mathematical scholarly articles?"

His skepticism was echoed by Prentiss as she didn't even know Reid had written those papers and she worked with him for years.

"What, because I'm a stay at home mom I'm supposed to eat bon-bons and watch soap operas?"

"I...don't know what that even means."

Prentiss knew it was time for her to step in. "Mrs. Stilinski -"

"Stop right there. I'm not Mrs. Stilinski. I'm Lydia Martin." There was a frown gathering on her brow and Prentiss silently cursed her faux pas. "Why are you even here?"

"Well, there was a body found just outside of town..." Prentiss was interrupted by a visibly exasperated Lydia.

"Oh, I know why you're in Beacon Hills. I want to know why you're standing on my front porch."

"May we come in so we can explain?"

Blue eyes flicked over them rapidly while Lydia decided if she would let them in or not before heaving a loud sigh and unlocking the screen door. Reid opened it and started forward before stopping in surprise. "You're pregnant."

"I can see why they let you in the FBI with that level of observation."

Lydia was obviously in the late stages of pregnancy as her small frame was almost completely swallowed up by the hard roundness beneath her stretchy blue top. Both agents followed her to a large comfortable living room - an odd mixture of feminine touches such as framed pictures on the wall, brightly colored pillows, and pillar candles scattered across end tables and a large sturdy coffee table with masculine looking leather sectional, scattered large sized shoes, and a huge flat screen tv nearly taking up one wall. The Xbox and Playstation could've been Lydia's, of course, but Prentiss suspected it belonged to her husband.

After the usual hostess duties - showing them where to be seated, asking about refreshments - Lydia curled up in a small stack of pillows and eyed them.

"So, I'm assuming since you're here, you want to know about Eichen House."

Reid startled. For a man who could wipe up at the poker table, he was terrible at hiding his reactions. "Why would you think that?"

She sighed again with an added eyeroll this time as if she were still a teenaged girl. "Because I'm pregnant, not stupid. You hauled my husband in for questioning and these deaths are connected, which you're starting to piece together and realize the girls from Eichen House are being targeted." Lydia dropped her eyes for the first time and was inordinately interested in the fringe ends of one pillow. "You probably even think Stiles had a hand in it since two bodies turned up in Beacon Hills.”

Everything she said was true. There was a working theory Reid, Prentiss, and Hotch mulled over after Morgan called about finding Stilinski with Malia Tate. Garcia was tasked digging deeper into the Stilinski family background and what she came up with was similar to many sociopaths’ histories: Dead mother, overworked alcoholic father, latch-key kid, severe attention deficit disorder, and several unexplained trips to the hospital during his teenaged years for everything from a broken arm to a tree branch through his sternum. It harkened to an abusive childhood, which could’ve in turn led him to “experimenting” especially since there were missing pets, children, and other mysterious phenomena in between his ER visits.

Hotch, however, had shaken his head at the implications and said “There’s something more here, and I don’t think Stilinski is the cause. I think he’s tangled up in it, but not the perpetrator.” No one had said anything to gainsay him for two reasons: one, he was rarely wrong about these sort of things as he had a seemingly savant like ability to understand criminal behavior and two, the conclusion was too easy. Too simple. They’d learned over the years with their varied cases that the easiest answer wasn’t always correct, regardless of Occam’s Razor.

Lydia raised her head proudly, eyes red though no tears fell. “Stiles saved my life and Erica’s and Malia’s. He would never ever hurt us or our children.”

The fervor was unmistakable in her voice and Prentiss didn’t look at Reid or shift to avoid disrupting the slight connection they’d made with her.

“Can you tell us how he saved you?”

Blue eyes became clouded as her mind obviously went to a distant past no one could see but her. “My parents were never very interested in raising me until I got to middle school age and suddenly could be showed off like some goddamn show pony to their friends.” The venom was as unmistakable as the fervor. “By the time I reached high school, I had decided I wouldn’t play their games because it never garnered more than a head pat or a distracted “That’s nice dear,” unless their friends were around. It was Stiles who pulled me from going too far in retaliation.” She smirked. “It was in math class when he leaned over while we were both at the board and said he knew I was better than I was pretending and could he please copy off my homework because he hadn’t had time to do it the night before.”

The smirk stretched into a fond smile, Lydia’s hand absently caressing her burgeoning belly. “Stiles was always...there. We’d been going to school together since kindergarten and, despite his ADD, we always fought for the best grades, or we did until high school when I decided being a popular airhead was more important. After all, my daddy would buy my way into any college I wanted so why should I have to work for it?”

The question was obviously rhetorical, but Prentiss pinched Reid’s side when he opened his mouth, and he slumped back into his chair with a pout. Knowledge and learning for its own sake was reward enough in his estimation, but he didn’t know how tough being a teenage girl could be, especially with uninvolved parents. Prentiss understood, god did she, so she protected the space that opened up inside Lydia as she waded through the muck of her past life.

“Then...things...started to happen and my boyfriend, Jackson, went off the deep end, so I started cutting to relieve the pressure.”

_Lie_.

The first one she’d told so far. Reid straightened, alerting Prentis that he’d caught it too. Her posture and voice hadn’t changed, but something about Lydia was off and it made the agents wonder why she’d lie about this. Why lie about cutting?

Lydia fiddled with the ends of the pillows again. “My parents were having their own issues and with my episodes, it pushed them into divorce. But not before my dad had me committed to Eichen House on his good friend Dr. Creager’s advice.”

The mixture of emotions that passed across her already expressive face was astounding in its breadth: hatred, betrayal, hurt, loneliness, and fear.

“I was drugged for a good portion of the time so I don’t remember much” - _another lie_ \- “thank god, but one day I woke up in my room with Stiles standing over me, his face stricken and horrified.” Lydia cradled her stomach and hunched her shoulders as if to ward off a blow. “I didn’t understand what was going on until I realized I was in labor and blood pulsed between my legs.”

Lydia fell silent now, her face empty, though her eyes were haunted as memories of a terrible labor obviously danced across her mind. Reid spoke for the first time with a gentle nudge, “What happened then?”

“Stiles had tried to for months, without success, to gain access to Eichen House because he was worried about Erica and I. He finally got in and found us locked up and pregnant, though Erica still had a few months left before she went into labor, and called everyone who could help. All the staff and Dr. Creager mysteriously vanished between the time Stiles got there and the sheriff.”

Lydia’s trembling mouth firmed and she squared her shoulders with pride. “Stiles has absolutely nothing to do with the deaths you’re investigating and in fact is trying to find out who's responsible. Malia isn’t one of his, but she’s still born of Beacon Hills so he would go to the ends of his limits to avenge her murder.”

Reid and Prentiss wondered at the almost archaic ideology she used, as if her husband were some knight errant tasked with defending the realm instead of a wildlife officer employed by the government to watch over a small swatch of land.

Any follow-up questions were forever silenced by the slap of the screen door opening and small feet running across the wood floor.

“Mama, Mama, guess what Papa and I did!”

A sturdy little boy with his mother’s influence in the blue of his eyes and reddish glints in his blond hair skidded to a stop when he noticed the agents seated in the living room. He ducked his head shyly when he saw Prentiss, but a moment later his eyes wandered to Reid and they widened with recognition.

“You’re the fucking FBI I met with Daddy!”

Prentiss had heard about the first meeting with Stilinski and couldn’t quite stifle her chuckle, even as Lydia groaned and muttered imprecations against her husband and his vulgar mouth.

“Oksar, what are the rules in the house?”

“No running or shouting or...oh.” His shoulders slumped and blue eyes peeked through long brown lashes. “Am I in trouble?”

Lydia held out her hand imperiously and Oksar sedately walked across to his mother and clambered up onto the sofa with her. He bussed her proffered cheek before bending down and kissing her belly. “How’s Sissy today? Is she ready to come out and play yet?”

Reid watched the little boy with bemused fascination and Prentiss thought it might have to do with his own childhood, at least until he asked, “Why do you call your father both Daddy and Papa?”

Lydia breathed in sharply and started to respond, but Oksar promptly said, “Cause I have two, duh. Daddy and Papa. They sleep with Mama in a huuuugggeee bed and I can come in when they’re just puppy-piling, but when Papa is growly and tumbling either Daddy or Mama, I’m not allowed to go into their bedroom until after they call a god down and it gets real quiet.”

“Oh God.” Lydia hid her face in her hands.

Oksar turned with a beaming smile on Lydia. “Just like that!” He turned back to the stunned agents, “I want to call a god, but Daddy says I have to be waaayyy older to learn how to do that.”

A strangled cough behind them alerts the agents to another presence, and both turn to see a large dark-haired man standing there, ears red with embarrassment.

“Papa, that man is the I met at Deaton’s office.”

“Uh, hi,” the man said with a much higher voice than expected. “I’m, uh, Derek Hale.”

Prentiss felt her eyebrows raise at the unexpected introduction. This was Derek Hale? And he was in a… _relationship_ …with the Stilinskis?

“Hi, I’m -”

“Could we please skip the introductions when everyone in the room knows who the other is. If you seriously think Derek doesn’t know who you are, then you’ve not been paying attention to how the gossip vine in Beacon Hills works.”

Derek walked in and primly sat on the end of the longest end of the sectional with his hands in his lap. Oskar crawled away from his mother's nest and curled up in his lap, adoring eyes on his face. Derek and Lydia didn't look at one another, and the silence that fell was awkward.

Before either Reid or Prentiss could power through the unforeseen news and pull it back to their interview, someone  _else_ slapped open the screen and pounded across the wooden floor. Both agents resigned themselves to another outburst, so neither were surprised by Stiles Stilinski's abrupt entrance, because  _of course_ he would show up. Why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I totally stole the titles from the real authors:  
> A.S. Householder, "Unitary triangularization of a nonsymmetric matrix," J. Assoc. Comput. Mach., 5 (1958), pp. 339–342.  
> R. Courant, "Variational methods for the solution of problems of equilibrium and vibrations," Bull. Amer. Math. Soc., 49 (1943), pp. 1–23.
> 
> Editing and rereading this chapter made me realize how much I love to torture Lydia (in another posted story she also had a kid after enduring horrific abuse) and I guess I'm ashamed of myself? She's just deliciously perfect bait - strong willed while being so hideously vulnerable in the supernatural world.


	10. The Truth Shall Set You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team assembles.

“What the hell was that, Hotch? I could've broken him!”

Hotch looked at Morgan with a skeptical look on his craggy face. “Yes, sitting there in silence really is breaking him.”

Morgan turned away to better mouth the expletives he wouldn't say in front of his boss.

“Look, Morgan, I'm not disparaging your skills, but I made that call because I don't think Stiles Stilinski is our killer.” Hotch shifted, arms folding across his chest as he sought not to loom over his subordinate. “Garcia did some digging, and while Stilinski does have some of the markers necessary for a sociopathic killer, he apparently hasn't left Beacon Hills since Junior year of high school.”

“What?”

“He hasn't left the boundaries of Beacon Hills since he was seventeen – by car, train, or plane.”

“How does a person never leave their home town? Garcia can't tell if he's left on foot -”

“Agreed, but on the day when Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd were found, Stilinski has alibis for the week prior and the week after. Garcia couldn't find any indication he was ever in Oregon. There is also no reasoning for him to kill Gareth; there is nothing linking them.”

Morgan was looking at Hotch now, tacitly acknowledging he was right to let the suspect go.

“What about Malia Tate?”

“I tasked Garcia to get in contact with the victim's family and find out how a primarily catatonic woman manages to get killed several hundred miles from her last known location. She couldn't have made it here on her own, and with Stilinski's inexplicable desire to never leave this town, I highly doubt he was involved with that either.” Hotch looked at his watch. “We need to get the others together to go through the information and start our profile.”

Hotch withdrew his phone and quickly dialed Reid's number.

“Reid, you and Prentiss get back to the station.”

Morgan and Rossi watched Hotch's eyebrows climb his forehead until they nearly reached his hairline. It wasn't the usual expression for the Unit Chief as he cornered the market on sternness.

“We'll talk about it more later, but for now get back as soon as possible.”

When the team assembled, they grouped together in the office provided by the sheriff. Reid and Prentiss fell over themselves telling the others about the strange triangular relationship between the Stilinskis and Derek Hale.

“The little boy outed them, but it was their reaction that made it clear they were involved.”

Reid shook his head. “What I wonder is who was coupled first? Stilinski and Hale or Stilinski and Martin.”

“Why wouldn't you think Hale and Martin as the first couple?” Rossi was curious to hear Reid's reasoning.

“Because Stiles married Lydia. If Derek was with her first, it would reason _he_ would've married her after she was released from Eichen House. We know Derek was involved in Stiles' life when he first came back to Beacon Hills – the sheriff's report shows that both Stiles and Scott fingered Derek as a murderer and then a few weeks later, all charges were inexplicably dropped. This isn't the first time Derek's name pops up in Stiles' life. They were caught coming out of the forest half-naked during Stiles' senior year by a deputy on patrol. A few weeks later, Derek was caught sneaking across the high school campus during Prom. When asked why he was there, he said he needed to return something to a friend; the school rent-a-cop followed him and saw him meet up with Stiles and Lydia.” Reid wrapped his fingers around each other as he thought. “The behavior I observed at their house shows a comfort level existing between the three that denotes care and longevity, though when Stiles showed up at the house he didn't exhibit any sort of embarrassment when it became apparent knowledge of his unusual living situation was revealed.”

“Is Pretty Boy really thinking about sex?”

“Who said anything about sex? I was talking about coupling...oh,.” Reid trailed off into confused silence as the giant brain of his obviously supplied the secondary definition of the word while the others chuckled.

Hotch put up a hand and grabbed everyone's attention. “Enough. Okay, so we know that Derek and Stiles are involved with Lydia now, but we don't know who fathered her baby while in Eichen House.”

“I thought the sheriff determined it was Dr. Creager.”

“They couldn't prove it conclusively since there was no way to get his DNA to match it up to the babies, but the based their assumption on him disappearing after everything was discovered at Eichen House.”

“Why was she even committed in the first place?”

Prentiss fielded this one. “Lydia was found in the boys' locker room with her wrists slashed. It was determined at the time she was suicidal after her latest and - by all accounts -last breakup with Jackson Whittemore. Shortly before she was found, he was sent to London by his parents to attend an exclusive boys' boarding school. They were in an off-phase but everyone knew they were constantly in each other's orbit despite their breakups. This could've been her last straw.”

“Her parents decided they couldn't handle her suicidal tendencies – this wasn't the first apparently – so Mr. Martin had her committed and put under the auspices of Dr. Creager.” As usual, Garcia came through in crunch time with crucial information.

Reid stood and began pacing the small room, neatly avoiding the piles of folders still sitting on the ground from their last go-round. “Emily, you said we should see how Freedman's death related to the girls. What made you think this?”

“Well, there must be a reason why he died in the same manner as the girls and Boyd, though we haven't found the connection yet.”

“Well, Garreth Freedman isn't connected to Stiles Stilinski,” Reid mused quietly, “But what if he was somehow related to Eichen House?”

“If you're saying he might've worked there – why would Derek claim him as his cousin? Especially given his relationship with one of the victims.”

Hotch quickly dialed Garcia as the others continued to debate Freedman's worth to the investigation. “Garcia, you're on speaker.”

“Oh wise and wonderful leader, I am at your command.”

“We've been spinning our wheels trying to connect the Stilinski kid to the case so we're going in a new direction. What do we know about the first victim, Gareth Freedman?”

“Not much, honestly. I continued to dig, because that's what I do, and it's as if he's a ghost or something. He doesn't exist in the system other than as a death certificate. His name, address, everything about him is fictional.” They could hear her hesitate. “Also, there's worse news.”

“What?”

“Malia Tate's dad is dead. Apparently he was the victim of a car-jacker and was shot in the head. The perpetrator wasn't caught and his car was found abandoned three days ago.”

“Baby girl, I recognize that tone in your voice. What's the even worse news?”

“Malia was checked out from her facility by Mr. Tate – except her father was dead by a week at that point.”

“The unsub,” Prentiss breathed.

“Anything else?”

“Uh no, except, um, I did try to follow up on the previous FBI visit to Beacon Hills as requested and I had a very uncomfortable phone call with Section Chief Strauss who told me in no uncertain terms to drop the inquiry or she would have my badge and my life as I know it would go poof!”

Everyone exchanged shocked glances at the harsh reaction to a simple look at a closed case. Hotch went grim around the mouth and his agents knew it meant a severe talk with Strauss was in her future. He might abide by her rules, but he wouldn't appreciate how she treated one of his teammates. Of them all, Penelope was the most vulnerable to manipulation because of how she came to the FBI.

“Don't worry about it, Garcia. I don't want you to get in trouble so drop the investigation into Agent McCall. We'll talk later.” He put his phone back into his jacket as he turned to fully face everyone. “So we know that Malia was taken from her facility by someone other than her father – it could be the unsub or even Mr. Freedman as we still don't know how or why he came to be murdered just outside Beacon Hills.”

“I believe I can help with that -” a new voice intervened. The team looked towards the door where a weary-looking sheriff stood, hands on his hips. The light gleamed dully on the star on his chest as he strode to the center of the room. Two deputies stepped through the door behind him – Parrish and Isaac.

“You see, I didn't know anything about Mr. Freedman as my officers neglected to tell me about it, at least until you came to town.” The glower the sheriff turned on his chastened looking deputies was fierce. “Gareth Freedman wasn't his real name – as I'm sure the voice on the phone has told you.”

“Her name is Penelope.”

“Sorry, Penelope.” Sheriff Stilinski scrubbed a hand through his hair. “The man was Boris Feldman and he was an orderly at Eichen House during the time when all the unpleasantness went down.” The hand-waving encompassed the rape and impregnation of three girls as he refrained from reiterating what everyone knew. “He took the chance to flee Beacon Hills when everything was discovered because he didn't want to be trapped again.” Parrish opened his mouth, but subsided under another sheriffy glare. “Despite him lying low for the past six years or so, he kept tabs on the girls and discovered Erica's murder and Malia's disappearing. If Penelope can do her google-fu finger thing, I'm sure she'll find that Malia was taken three weeks ago.” Anger suffused his face. “She's been in the hands of that monster for three weeks and now she's dead!”

Isaac put a hand on the sheriff's shoulder and he visibly calmed beneath the deputy's whispered entreaties. Morgan, who stood the closest, raised an eyebrow at the muttered “Don't make me smack you,” threat.

“Mr. Feldman came here to warn Lydia about Dr. Creager coming back for her and Oskar.”

“Are you saying Dr. Creager killed Mr. Feldman? How would he be able to get close enough?” Rossi neglected to mention Garcia had dug up a picture of the doctor and he was one hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet, which was quite different than the nearly two hundred pounds Feldman weighed in life.

“You'd be surprised what motivates a killer,” Parrish opined, speaking for the first time.

“You see, Sheriff, we do know some of this,” Hotch said slowly, “Because we had your son in for questioning earlier, and he told us Garreth Freedman worked at Eichen House, but he neglected to mention it was under a different name.”

The sheriff pinched the brow of his nose and sighed deeply. The agents slowly backed up until they weren't in each other's line of fire if guns needed to be drawn. The deputies didn't move from their flanking position though their eyes certainly tracked them.

“You know, this isn't how I wanted this to turn out. I respect the law, and I respect the job you do, but Agents you've bit off more than you can chew with this case.”

The blue fire had returned to the sheriff's eyes as he lifted his head to face them. “Trust me when I saw this is for your protection.” His fist, which was hidden from view, came up and he blew a black powder in their direction. The agents automatically went for their guns, but suddenly they all were feeling woozy and light-headed.

It must be a trick of whatever drug the sheriff gave them because it suddenly looked like Stiles stood in front of them, watching as one by one they succumbed to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided this story is almost at the end, but I'm enjoying the 'verse so I will probably come back to it in the future. Also, while I was watching CM Season 8 Ep 16, guess who I saw playing a cop: Daddy McCall.


	11. Kaleidoscope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch begins to see the fuzzy edges of the truth.

When Hotch swam to consciousness, he couldn't tell much at first except know he was in a car of some sort. By the layered smell of gun oil, fast food, and body odor, Hotch figured he was in the back of a Beacon Hills cruiser. The deputies - or maybe even the Sheriff himself - were quiet; there wasn't even a radio on, either official or commercial. Hotch was slumped nearly lengthwise on the seat so he knew he was alone, which meant his agents were being transported ( _please let them be transported_ ) in another vehicle or vehicles.  A small burble of panic lodged itself in Hotch's sternum, a remnant of dangers his team faced before, and the mortal peril that took Haley from him on the cusp of forgiveness and reconciliation.  He didn't dare open his eyes in case he was being watched, and he stealthily rotated his wrists behind his back to see if there was any give in the metal cuffs linking them together. Unfortunately, unlike a few unsubs in the past, they were cops too and knew how to keep someone under control. Hotch subsided his furtive movements and tried to keep his breathing steady so he could suss out what the situation was; there was something definitely going on in Beacon Hills, and his team had stumbled into it knee deep. It was up to him to maintain calmness and figure out how to get himself and the others out of this predicament.

"We know you're awake," a huskily amused voice near Hotch's head informed him. Hotch mentally cursed whatever tic alerted his captors to his lucid state.

"It's okay, Agent Hotchner. We're not going to hurt you." It was another male voice, younger, and vaguely familiar.

So he was in the car with Parrish and Isaac. Good, maybe he could divide them from the weird hold the Sheriff had over them and subtly pump information from them, or at least lull them into a sense of complacency.

"I'm glad to hear you won't hurt _me..._ " Hotch emphasized before trailing off. Most people had an inescapable need to fill in the blanks and he wondered if they would fall into that category.

"The other agents are fine too," the younger voice hurriedly assured him, as if to prove they didn't have any ill-will for them. "We just felt it would be better to keep their Alp-leader separate for now."

"Leader" wasn't the deputy's first word. He meant to say "Alpha." This wasn't the first time the word was used as Stiles had called Morgan a "jumped up beta" and demanded to see his "alpha," seemingly to instinctively know it was Hotch. Now, the older agent was well-aware of his quiet intensity and his knack for leadership, even Haley had fondly and not so fondly called him an Alpha male depending on her mood, but for some reason he didn't think these people were using it in the same way. It sounded more like a _title_ than a personality quirk. However it was used, it clearly meant something important to them - and he wondered now how many of _them_ there were - so Hotch knew he needed to use it in conversation and see where it would lead him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Someplace safe."

 _Interesting_. "And the station isn't?"

"Trust me when I say the station is  _never_ safe when things go down. Hell, it holds the record for most deaths in a single location, which is saying a lot when it comes to BH."

Isaac spoke with heavy meaning implicit in his tone and words, though Hotch didn't know the exact details. This case was a cluster fuck from the moment they took it - the deeper they dug into the town's history, the more it became apparent the other US Route 101 victims from the last forty years had nothing in common with the most recent ones despite similar MOs. Nothing made sense and now the law enforcement was  _kidnapping_ federal agents on the pretext of safety. 

"So where can we go that is safe?"

"You'll see when we get there," was Parrish's cryptic response. Hotch tried for the next five minutes to re-initiate conversation, but this time there was no response, so with little choice he settled back into the back seat and tried staring out of the window above his feet. There was no light except for the odd flash of headlights coming towards them that briefly lit up the dark trees on the periphery of the road; this made Hotch believe they were on the highway since the town had streetlamps. He wondered how he could possibly get out of this especially when he could feel the emptiness of the holster on his hip and the one on his ankle, indicating the deputies were thorough before they put him in the back. Soon the smooth  _wup wup wup_ of tires on pavement gave way to rockier terrain and the cruiser _chhhured_  over a dirt road before coming to a complete stop. 

Hotch tensed when the deputies both stepped out of the car and the door behind his head opened. 

"If you sit up slowly, I will unlock your cuffs."

"Why?"

Isaac chuckled. "Man, always with the questions with this one. Just do it, Agent Hotchner."

The  _snick_ of the cuffs was loud in the relative silence and Hotch was allowed to slip out. Standing upright allowed him to see his surroundings properly for the first time and he realized they were parked at end of a long driveway leading up to a well-lit two story house. There was a van parked right next to the side of the home and he prayed his agents were transported in the back.

"Let's not keep everyone waiting," Parrish muttered, a few fingers poking into Hotch's lower back to get him moving. They approached the wrap-around porch - gleaming white in the lights strung across the support columns - and the door opened, an imposing figure silhouetted in the doorway. A few steps closer and Hotch could see the person a little clearer; going off Reid and Prentiss' description, this must be the infamous Derek Hale.

Derek moved to the side and let them in, his head cocked in a strange manner, almost as if he was listening to some faraway sound and he moved to guard the threshold even as Hotch was prodded through the small foyer to a large living room to his left and Isaac indicated he sit on the low-slung couch. There were no photos or personal items, not even a TV, in the room, though the painted walls and matched furniture showed  _some_ thought was put into the decor. 

A door deeper in the house creaked open and footsteps echoed through the lower level. Reid and Rossi were marched in with a petite dark-haired girl behind them, an unimpressive figure until one noted the well-slung sword at her hip and the hand she kept on its wrapped hilt. Neither of his agents appeared physically damaged and Rossi had his "I'm going to figure this out if it kills me" expression on his face. They were urged to sit down on the couch next to Hotch, and a large part of his worry fell from his shoulders with them near. He just needed to see his other two agents to be completely relieved.

"Reid, you okay?"

"Did you know that there have been several attempts to explain where the expression _okay_ comes from? Some theorized it was anglicized from the Scottish "och aye," or the Greek "ola kala" which means it is good, but ultimately it's probably from the slogan used by the 1840 Democratic party which used an abbreviation of "orl korrekt" a jokey misspelling of "all correct" which was slang in the 1830s United States. The democratic presidential candidate Martin Van Buren was nicknamed "Old Kinderhook" from where he was born in New York and his supporters called themselves the "OK Club. But ultimately -"

"Christ, another Stiles' clone, eh? I bet he's a crack researcher on the most obscure references and trivia," a new voice interrupted, and Hotch looked away from Reid. The newcomer was a very pregnant woman with red hair caught up in a ponytail. No one had to identify her to Hotch as he instantly knew it was Lydia Martin of the Stilinski love triangle.

"Lyds, what are you doing here?"

Deputy Lahey sounded panicked. Lydia swung around, an impressive feat given her altered center of gravity, and narrowed her eyes at the taller man. 

"Are you saying I shouldn't be here? Are you saying just because I'm going to spawn I am a liability?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it like that, but dude. You know the Alphas are gonna have a conniption when they see you here."

The petite Asian girl was buffing her nails and not looking directly at the tableau as if the integrity of her nail polish was more important than what was happening in front of her. Lydia had stopped advancing on Lahey, who looked pathetically thankful, and turned her ire on the other girl instead.

"What the hell are you doing here, Yukimura? How is this -" Lydia flung a hand in the direction of the agents " - any of the clan's business?"

Dark eyes flashed upward and the girl - no woman, Hotch realized when he saw the fullness of her face in the light - bristled with energy. 

"I am not representing the clan, Lydia. I'm here as a favor to Stiles, who despite your machinations, is still my  _friend_. As is Derek."

There was obviously history between the two women as Lydia audibly gritted her teeth against the taunting words. Yukimura - first name? - smirked and crossed the room until she leaned against the far wall. They both glared at one another and might've continued uninterrupted - Parrish and Lahey were obviously not going to step into the middle of this pissing match - if Derek hadn't returned. All of the people in the room minus the watching agents straightened abruptly, their bodies tense with purpose, even Lydia though she tried to disguise it by fluffing her hair. Hotch wasn't fooled, however, and saw her reacting to Hale's ... charisma?  Was that even the word he wanted to use? It was a hard thing to define, but Hotch definitely saw a change come over Hale's people.

He stepped across the threshold and scanned the room, though his eyes merely passed over the BAU team as if they were inanimate objects. His next words dispelled that.

"Isaac, why did you bring the FBI to the house?"

"Stiles commanded it. He wanted them out of the way."

The words were clipped and to the point with an undertone of submissive respect. Hale merely nodded and switched his gaze to his fuming girlfriend.

"You know you're not wanted or needed here, Lydia. Why did you leave Oskar unattended?"

"You don't get to do that, Derek. Don't you dare make me feel like a bad mother for leaving her son in a perfectly safe environment! He's with his grandpapa."

Hale exhaled roughly, his hand pushing through his hair. "I don't want you or the baby to get hurt. Please."

Lydia softened and came up to him, her smaller body leaning against him. "I'm dreaming even awake. I couldn't stay away, not when the past is mingling with our present and threatens our future."

Hale pressed his lips to her forehead before whispering something into her ear. Lahey and Parrish shifted and turned their heads away, as if to give the couple privacy, which baffled Hotch because how could they hear what was being said from way over here?

"As fun as this is, when do we get to play?" Yukimura chirped, the soft _shirrup_ of her blade leaving its scabbard underscoring her words. Derek rolled his eyes at the woman's playful tone even as Lydia moved in his embrace, her mouth opened to no doubt chastise the other woman.

"While I appreciate your presence as an ally, Kira, you know this isn't -" Derek trailed off and made a vague gesture that Kira seemed to understand as she giggled charmingly. It was appallingly out of place in a room filled with people seemingly set for battle. But battle against...who? Or what? "You're probably not going to be needed."

Kira pouted. "Why does Stiles get to have all the fun? I've not exercised my abilities in a while and never against a big bad like this!"

"You think _this_ is fun? You think this is  _fun_? My husband is out there setting traps to finally catch the  _monster_ who started all of this - I know your family hadn't come back yet, Yukimura, but surely even you would have some sensitivity to what's going on. He's already killed Malia and Erica to get to the kids - now he's here for me and Oksar. Don't you fucking trivialize this, fox!"

The dark-haired woman closed her mouth and simply nodded, chagrin plain on her face.

Hotch exchanged glances with Rossi and Reid as Lydia seemed to wind down from her emotional outburst, all three of their profiling brains hard at work trying to work through the information they were unwittingly handed. It was obvious now, if not before, that everyone from the deputies - possibly the sheriff? - to the Hale-Stilinskis knew exactly what was going on with the murders and why. They'd probably known almost from the beginning, but had deliberately held back information so the Feds wouldn't get the arrest. Instead it sounded like they were going to commit vigilante style murder.

"You can't do this," Reid blurted unthinkingly, his voice sounding younger than his actual years. "Your husband can't avenge your rape with death. I know it's hard, but let us go and we can see justice is served."

Hotch was so proud of the younger agent; he sounded resolute, righteous without being demeaning, and he withheld any promises about deferring consequences from holding five federal agents against their wills. Speaking of which, where were Prentiss and Morgan?

"See, this is why I should've brewed and dried the concoction. They would still be asleep if I'd done it. Stiles always gets distracted," Lydia complained. Derek shook his head a little. "Yes, but you know brewing isn't good for you or the baby."

Parrish snorted. "Like that was what stopped her. Trust me, there are things I can't unsee." Lydia turned bright red, which told Hotch exactly what the deputy must've walked in on.

Derek grinned then, a startling flash of white against the dark bristles of his beard and Hotch felt more than heard the small sigh that escaped Kira. If she had a crush on the red-head's paramour, it would explain the hostility between the two women. 

"Where are my other two agents," Hotch asked determinedly. He didn't think they were harmed as it didn't seem as if this group wanted to hurt them. It appeared they were trying to...protect them?

"Safe," Parrish spoke. "We couldn't put you all in the same place so we split you up." He turned his head to glare at Yukimura. "She wasn't supposed to bring her cargo here."

The Japanese woman shrugged. "I wasn't going to, but then I got a text from Stiles telling me I needed to come here instead."

Lydia straightened immediately, a strange expression crossing her pale face. "He couldn't have. Stiles forgot his phone at home, that's actually why I came here because I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

True alarm spread through the others in the room and Hotch's heart sank into his stomach.

"Isaac, Parrish go to the Nemeton now. Lydia go the cage, I mean it. Kira, come with me." Derek's orders were short and concise, each word a bullet he spit out with precision. He turned electric blue eyes on the captured agents. "You'll be safer here if you don't move or try to escape. If you leave the protection of the house, I can't guarantee your lives and just know you've brought hell down on yourself."

With that stunning pronouncement, Derek and Kira thundered out the front door at a dead run.


	12. The Forest for the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rossi, Reid, and Hotch learn about the supernatural while Prentiss and Morgan meet the Warden.

"I really wouldn't advise you going," Lydia said, even as she watched the team rotate their wrists to relieve the pressure of being handcuffed. Ten minutes after the others had left the house, Lydia had unlocked everyone with a key she'd retrieved from a side drawer. When she'd encountered Reid's raised eyebrows, she'd muttered, "I'm married to a cop's kid."

"I thought you were supposed to go to the cage?"

Rossi was highly curious about the last minute order her Derek had thrown at her, but Hotch knew he wouldn't ask outright. 

Lydia shrugged, her t-shirt pressing tightly against the hardness of her stomach with the movement. She'd settled onto the couch once they'd stood and watched them with bright blue eyes.

"I'll go down there once you've left the house and stupidly gone to follow the pack on the hunt."

"Pack?"

"And here I thought you were the smart one," she quietly taunted Reid. "Yes,  _pack_. I'm sure you've figured out there's something different about us."

Reid didn't shift his fascinated gaze from her. "Is there a reason why you called Kira a fox?"

"Because she is one. Not in the sense of being a shapeshifter who can turn into a fox literally, mind you, but she's a kitsune."

"But Kitsune is the Japanese word that literally  _means_ fox."

She nods and it takes a moment for Hotch to place the look on her face; she's going into lecturer mode, an expression he'd only ever associated with Reid before. 

"It does, but unlike the Japanese lore, she cannot transform her body from a fox into a person or vice versa. She's a magical being with fox-like nature, not a werefox."

"Magic? Werefoxes?" Rossi's question was spit out with the venom of a man who could only trust his own senses to believe anything.

Lydia transferred her gaze to the older man and snorted with derision. "Please. I know you met Derek in his half-form so don't try to shrug this off as completely unbelievable."

Rossi stiffened. "What?"

"When you and the other agent went into the woods, you came across Derek while he was guarding Stiles from intrusion. You are very lucky Isaac and Parrish were out there too and distracted him long enough for him to regain human intelligence; if you'd barged in on Stiles' ritual any sooner, you would've met a  _very_  feral werewolf protecting his mate."  Her tone left no room for interpretation as to their fate.

There was silence as the agents absorbed the information - neither Reid nor Hotch were out there so they couldn't fully appreciate her words in the same visceral way Rossi obviously processed them.

"What ritual?" Reid asked as Rossi spit out an unbelieving, " _Werewolf_?!"

Lydia looked down at her hand smoothing over her belly. "Death, especially violent death, leaves a mark, an...echo...as it were and Stiles was making sure Malia's wouldn't because we've had issues with it in the past and he's diligent in caring for our territory." She seemed hypnotized by the soothing ministrations. The three men standing in her living room were used to hunting down killers, serial or otherwise, and visited many places where victims had met dark and bloody ends, so they understood what she meant, even if the arcane ritual aspect was usually part of the violence and not a means of peace. She continued. "And yes, _werewolf_. It isn't that far-fetched when you think about it since nearly every civilization carries tales of men shifting into animal form. In this particular case, it's quite literal."

There was a gaping silence as no one knew quite how to respond. This case so far had taken several twists and turns none of the investigators had ever encountered and the supernatural was a bit of a stretch despite the weirdness prevalent in the town. Surely there was a logical explanation. Surely.

"What's going on tonight, Lydia?" Hotch could do gentle, despite his brusque veneer. 

Blue eyes measured his worth as a man and agent. "Dr. Creager - or whatever name he's using now - is back because he needs a new body. We discovered through research his kind can only stay in random bodies for short amounts of time before they begin to deteriorate; it's why he abducted and held Malia, Erica, and I. We were incubators for his perfect body."

"He made sure he would have a body to...possess?" Reid's question was uncertain as he wasn't exactly sure of the process in which someone takes over another body outside the realm of fantasy or science fiction. "But why did he kill the others if they also gave birth to live children? Both had healthy ...girls." Reid's dark eyes were alight with comprehension. "He needed a male body for some reason and only you had a boy." He looked at her. "But why you three?"

Lydia shrugged. "We were convenient? All three of us were vulnerable at the time he came to Beacon Hills; Stiles has another theory of course, but he can't substantiate it without trapping the being in Dr. Creager's body."

"Trapping...the...being...?"

Hotch thought Reid was now on the threshold of belief and disbelief. He wasn't like Rossi in that he had a closed mind, yet Reid also needed to concrete data to make sure theories made sense and order was maintained in his world. It was partially because of  his mother's mental illness and also a quirk of his own personality. Hotch took over the questioning before Reid's mind started smoking as the gears stopped working.

"What type of  _being_ do you think he is?"  It was still difficult to believe he was asking this in a serious manner instead of feed the delusions of the perp to talk him or her off the ledge sort of way.

"We have narrowed it down to three possibilities, which tonight if everything goes right will reveal the correct one."

"If your pack had a trap set up, why was everyone so upset by Stiles' absence."

"Stiles is uniquely gifted with the ability to muck up plans through his mere existence. Usually when a big bad comes through they hone on him."

 "And you're not worried?"

"Agent Hotchner, this is Beacon Hills where we literally have a beacon that sends out handwritten invitations to anyone with a drop of  _otherness_ in their blood. I would go mad if I worried every time he walked out the door. He is the Warden so I must trust in his abilities." 

Again, there was a certain way his professional title was used, as if it meant more than the job description. 

"What about you? How is this affecting you?" 

"If I were a few years older or a few years younger, none of this would've happened to me." She waved an all encompassing hand to signal her current situation. "I won't lie and say sometimes I wish..." her voice trailed off and her eyes dropped again to her belly. It must be hard to be her, Hotch reasoned, to be the mother of a child she obviously adored, yet was the reminder of a captivity that lasted several months. Hotch had read the file on her and the details laid out in black and white were sickening even without knowing the victim firsthand. He had to give it to the doctor for knowing how to manipulate the situation to get what he wanted. This current pregnancy, while completely different from her first, must carry the weight of its own issues. Hotch couldn't blame her for sometimes wishing her life was different; it didn't make her a bad person, merely human. Or, maybe human-like, since he wasn't sure if she had a power or ability. Hotch rubbed his forehead in frustration over his thoughts - he both believed and disbelieved her, which was strange because usually he knew exactly where the line between reality and fantasy lay.

Rossi couldn't hold back his sharp bark of laughter. "You are crazy, certifiable even. Is this why you were locked up a few years ago?" Reid and Hotch looked at him shocked because while Rossi was a little rough around the edges, he wasn't usually cruel, especially to victims. Lydia, however, didn't seem perturbed by his reaction. She smirked before returning her gaze to Hotch. "I don't really care if you believe me or not, but I do give you this word of caution: don't get in the way of my pack tonight or you  _will_ be hurt. Your badges and little normal bullets can't stop what's come to this town." A grim look replaced her lighter expression. "It's time for the reckoning, one way or another."

* * *

Stiles muttered to himself as he drove, his hands clenched on the steering wheel even as his eyes darted to the rear view mirror. Morgan would like to flatter himself and think it's because the younger man was worried about carting restrained federal agents around, but given he was the one who napped them originally, Morgan knew better. Whatever had the kid spooked was starting to spook him - it wasn't logical, but then _nothing_ about this case or this town was logical.

"Stiles, if you release us, we promise we'll -"

"Shut it," he snapped, "I know the quality of FBI promises."

Prentiss shifted against him, silently telling him to shut up. They knew Scott McCall's father was a FBI agent and the bitterness was evident even if they didn't know the root of it. Morgan was frustrated by his inability to act, but settled back against his seat, irritated by the situation. Somehow he and Prentiss were taken out of the station, stripped of their weapons, tied up, and put into the back of a civilian SUV; he had no idea where they were or where they were going except they were definitely on the outskirts of town, though not in any direction he recognized.

"Stiles, can you explain what's going on? I can see you're upset, which makes me think you didn't want to be involved in whatever is happening." Prentiss' voice was low and soothing, the vocal equivalent of putting hands up in a conciliatory manner. She was never completely unarmed as long as she could speak, and Morgan suddenly felt better. He'd seen her talk plenty of unsubs and victims down from the edge, urging them to give in without fuss. "I can see how scared you are -"

A short bark of laughter interrupted her and Stiles eased his foot off the accelerator as they rolled up to a stop sign, looking at them over his shoulder. A cluster of high-powered street lamps illuminated the SUV's cab and they could see Stiles' face in stark relief: his cheeks were hollowed, face inexplicably _brown_ and eyes an almost fluorescent green.  Were those stubby _horns_ peeking through his tousled hair on either side of his forehead?

"Scared? You think I'm _scared_? I've been protecting this goddamned Hellmouth of a town since I was sixteen. Fear isn't really something I can feel any more, you know." There was a twist to his mouth that belied his words.

"Fear doesn't make you less than a man," Prentiss relentlessly pressed on despite the tremor Morgan could feel in her leg pressed against him. Obviously she could see the _changes_ in the younger man. It also meant this wasn't a very weird dream he was having.

Stiles snorted. "I'm not much of a man anymore, I guess you could say. At least not in the same way you mean." His smile was just...wrong. His teeth were jagged as if he'd filed them into points, which was impossible since they'd seen him earlier today and his teeth were human blunt.  "But you do have a point, Agent Morgan. I shouldn't have taken you with me and given you to Kira instead; I thought I'd have more time to get you to safety." He looked around intently, his head cocked as if trying to hear something inaudible. It should've looked silly, but instead it merely ratcheted up the tension because neither agent was completely sure he wasn't off his rocker crazy. 

A sound, the clacking of a chambered bullet, echoed in the car and Morgan's heart missed a beat when he recognized it instantly - his duty sidearm was distinctive to him, as it was the gun he'd carried since he first started at the Bureau. Prentiss tensed next to him. They were literally sitting ducks and at this range any fired bullet would be fatal.

Confusion and terror mixed equally in Morgan's mind when Stiles brought out the Sig-Sauer from his lap and showed it to the agents. He didn't point it at them or even voice any threats; instead, he laid it on the console between the two front seats and brought up his other hand that held a closed pocket blade. This he laid on Morgan's lap with a deep sigh.

"Look, you guys should've never come here - we had the matter in hand, at least until you showed up and screwed up our trap." The irritation sat weirdly on his deformed face and the agents shifted a little. "But, whatever. What's done is done. I was gonna try to get you to the hospital because right now it's the safest place in town, but I can feel him getting closer and we've run out of time." Stiles - or whomever the _thing_ was - twisted the key in the ignition so the engine stopped. "I don't think he'll come after you now as long as you stay the hell away from the Preserve tonight. You know the fairy-tales that spoke of the dangers in the woods? Those are truer than you know so heed my advice: be like Elsa and let it go. Let this whole case go and come morning you can leave with your lives intact. You follow me..." there was no threat in his voice, but the two agents understand the implicit message.  "I'm gonna leave your weapons here in the front - the knife is to get out of the restraints. Just keep going to the hospital and _stay there_ no matter what."

With that frankly scary sentence, Stiles pushed his door open and...the creature next to the SUV was not the same man who sat in the driver's seat. It expanded in size and width with a strange rustling sound as if originally squeezed into a small space and finally released. Neither agent would ever be able to adequately describe what they saw in that instant; the closest they could liken it... _him_...was a young tree with a twelve point rack like a buck. Light slid off the creature as he started taking large steps until he was running into the distance, a copse of trees his obvious destination. Within seconds he was gone from sight and the two feds sat there with identical stunned expressions.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Morgan pushed his terror and wonder deep down until he could breathe without hyperventilating and focused on the more important aspects of their situation right now.  "Do you think you can twist around and grab the knife? If you hold it, I can try to open it with my teeth and cut us out of our restraints." They were bound with standard issued plastic zip-ties, which would withstand forward motion by tightening and locking with backward movements, so Prentiss had to carefully maneuver herself around until she could lift the Swiss Army knife from his lap. Morgan took a deep breath and inched down until his lips were just above the divot in the metal that would bring the knife out. "Stay very still," he begged quietly, then took the metal between his two central incisors and gently pulled. It took a few nerve-wracking minutes before he was able to bring the blade completely out and then Prentiss was able to gently saw through the plastic ties on his hands.

When they were both finally freed, Prentiss tossed a glare in the direction they last saw Stilinski run off. "He couldn't have known we'd be able to get out of the restraints. He basically left us here to die!"

Morgan looked around and spied a small sign with the letter H and an arrow pointing in the same direction way their SUV was going before they stopped; whatever else was wrong with Stilinski, he hadn't lied about his intentions.

"I don't think so, Emily. Look." He showed her the sign and she still shook her head, rage making her go cold. Morgan was familiar with her coping mechanisms so he ignored it, opening the back door and circling the vehicle until he opened the front passenger door. He felt much better with the weight of his gun at his hip again, and sighed in relief when he opened the glove compartment and their cells were locked inside.

"Derek! Where have you been?" was Garcia's slightly hysterical greeting. "I've been trying to reach you guys for an hour and no one is picking up!"

Morgan closed his eyes and ignored Prentiss' hissed, "What?" He switched the call to speaker and replied, "We were jumped in the sheriff's station. Prentiss is with me, but I don't know where the others are."

"How could this happen? You were surrounded by cops!"

"Mama, just breathe. It was the cops who took us, allegedly for our own protection."

"What?!"

Even though the receiver wasn't near his ear, Morgan still winced at the volume of Garcia's voice.

"I'll get the CBI on their asses so fast -"

"Garcia! Stop and think. This is a small mountain town and our team is being held by people who know this area and how to deflect attention from themselves." Prentiss didn't explain the _odd_ developments in the case. "We need to be able to track them down and negotiate for everyone's release. We can't do that if we get another Field Office entangled in this mess."

"Well, their cells are out as that was the first thing I pinged. I knew something was wrong when everyone's cells except yours were clustered in the middle of town, and still no one picked up no matter how many times I called."

On an active investigation, unless going after the perp, field agents were supposed to keep an open line of communication between each other and their analyst to ensure nothing went wrong. Garcia's worry was completely justified because an entire team wouldn't go dark without prior warning.

Then another thought occurred to Morgan. "Why were you trying to reach us?"

"Weeeellll..." the guilty trail off signaled Garcia had dabbled on the wrong side of the law again. It wasn't the first, nor probably the last time, she'd get information in a highly sketchy manner.

"Mama."

"No, I swear I didn't follow the trail, Derek. It just sorta kinda maybe dropped in my lap."

Prentiss swore silently because they both knew what that meant: Kevin Lynch. Despite their breakup, Kevin and Penelope still maintained a quasi-professional/personal relationship that often benefited the BAU because, while Kevin wasn't the hacker his ex-girlfriend was, he had back door channels that she didn't have due to the legitimacy of his arrival to the FBI.

"What did he find?"

Garcia knew that tone. "He had a friend of a friend who knew a guy who's stylist knew some dirt on a certain Agent McCall."

"Penelope! You knew you were supposed to pull back from that."

"Yes, I know, Derek but I didn't deliberately seek it out. Kevin was in here dropping off lunch when he overheard the agent's name. Apparently he worked with the guy before and his sudden dismissal from the Bureau came under suspicious circumstances. Kevin was just trying to be helpful."

 _No, he was trying to find his way back into your bed,_ Derek thought grimly, though he refrained from stating it out loud. He didn't try to interfere with her love life and she returned the courtesy, so he couldn't give her his honest assessment as a profiler. At least, not again.

"Does it have anything to do with our current problem?"

Trust Prentiss to remained focused on the main goal.

"Maybe? Maybe not? I'm not sure about anything right now."

Morgan took the opportunity to slip into the driver's seat while Prentiss rounded the front and got in the passenger side. The minute the doors clicked behind them, they both felt a little easier.

"Okay, what is it?"

The two agents could hear Garcia's tapping, though it was somewhat muted which meant she wasn't on her usual keyboard. Derek withheld a sigh as he fought the urge to remind her about the  _last_ time she'd brought a personal computer into her work space.

"A few years ago there was a rash of unexplained deaths in Beacon Hills, some of them officers in their own station,  and Agent McCall was assigned to the case - or, may have muscled his way on - either way, he ended up back in the same town as his ex-wife and son. Interestingly enough while there he managed to get the sheriff kicked out of office. He was a very busy boy for a few weeks and suddenly the mystery was solved though not through any of his work. The perp drowned and the deputies later found enough evidence to pin everything on the dead boy, a Matt Daehler."

 "Okay..." Morgan drew out the word even as he turned on the SVU and turned it around, heading back towards the sheriff's office. 

"Agent McCall hung around even after the case wrapped up despite being called back to his Home Office and then," her voice dropped dramatically, "he up and vanished. I tracked his bank account and credit cards but no activity in six years. The sad thing is, no one reported him missing. It even states here that his superiors thought his disappearance was more due to alcohol than any hinky means." The pity in her voice was genuine because Garcia seldom met a person, real or on paper, who didn't touch her bleeding heart. Agents rarely just  _disappeared_ without a trace and usually an agency would be tasked on tracking him down, but if he'd had no one in his life and he already had documented issues with alcoholism, it made sense why no official investigation was launched. The silence wasn't a grand conspiracy but more likely a sense of embarrassment about a former agent. Now normally Morgan would disregard this as interesting but not particularly valid except McCall had connections in Beacon Hills, was actually last  _seen_ in Beacon HIlls, so this could actually be something.

"Thanks, Garcia. Now shut down the illegal laptop and help me figure out how I'm going to track down the others when our usual means aren't available."

Garcia made a noise as she refocused on the situation on hand. "You don't think they're injured or something, right?"

"No," Prentiss assured her, not even lying. "I do think they are trying to protect us, though I don't know from what yet. Garcia, can you tell me where the sheriff lives?"

"Of course."

"What are you thinking, Emily?"

"I'm thinking if Stiles is out here defending his town that it stands to reason so would Derek, which means they would've shuttled away their pregnant wife and small child. Who could they trust?"

"His father. But why the house and not the station?"

"We were all taken  _from_ the station to strategic parts of the town they deemed safe so the station is obviously compromised in their eyes."

"I would think so with all those poor deputies dying," Garcia muttered.

Prentiss ignored her contribution. "Have the address yet?"

"Sent to your GPS."

"Thanks, baby girl."

"Stay save, Chocolate Bear, because I won't hesitate to throw everything at this town if something happens to you all!"

Morgan made soothing noises before hanging up on her. 

"What do you think is going on, Emily?"

"I'm hoping we'll find out."


	13. ...Set You Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff gets to explain the chess board. It goes as well as can be expected.

 

The sheriff's house was unassuming at first glance. It was a small two-story house with a front porch and a two car garage on the end of a cul-de-sac. The trees in the front yard had time and growth on their side, which meant they were probably planted at the same time as the house was built, or closely thereafter. There was a police cruiser parked in front of the closed garage but Prentiss and Morgan had seen enough small town cops to know that such departments didn't much care whether the officers used their work cars as personal ones. Beacon Hills was, despite everything else going on, a somewhat typical in this one detail. As they stepped out of the SUV, they noted the waning light had passed over the crest of the highest point of the house's roof and the closest street lamp had flickered on with a slight whine of electricity. The near dark didn't hide the presence of bars on the windows or the arcane symbols carved into the weathered boards of the porch and the front door - of course, the agents were more observant than the usual civilian, so Prentiss wouldn't be surprised if others missed the details scattered amid the faded curlicues of the original design.

"Seems pretty strange for the sheriff of a quiet berg to have metal bars guarding his windows," Morgan commented as they walked up the cracked sidewalk leading to the porch. The light by the door turned on before they stepped onto the first step, and the sheriff was looking at them from behind the safety of a brand-new looking metal screen door a moment later. 

"Howdy, Agents What brings you by?"

Butter wouldn't melt in  _his_ mouth, as if the sheriff hadn't blown strange powder in their faces which put them to sleep.

Morgan found he wasn't nearly as sanguine as he pretended to be on the way over because he had his hand on the screen knob before he quite realized his body had stepped forward. 

"Listen to me, you, your entire department, and your son are looking at some serious charges: kidnapping of federal agents, obstruction of justice, assault of federal agents.." he was interrupted by a dry chuckle.

"And you're going to prove this...how?"

The amused tone just served to stoke the flames of Morgan's righteous anger.

"My word! The cameras in your station will back us, and even if you erase the footage I have a tech genius who can find a mouse's fart in the wind."

"The very same cameras that were never replaced after the shooting that killed half my men? The county felt it would be too expensive to give us new ones when, other than the freak-out by a very disturbed individual, we've never had any use for the footage."

Stymied, Morgan looked at Prentiss who had a considering look on her face. It meant she was thinking with her profiler's brain and Morgan dialed down his anger at the sight; it reminded him there was a lot more at stake than just his own reactions to recent events. Besides, Hotch could bring down hellfire and damnation a lot better than he could.

"You don't look upset or even surprised to see us, almost as if you were expecting us to show up here. No, I think Stiles was right when he said he had no intentions of harming us. I'm sure there is a logical reason to why my team was taken from the station and split up between your partners -" a slight twitch at the word made Morgan think there was something else here they were missing - "but what makes me most curious is not how you answered the door, but why."

She didn't elaborate on her point, which Morgan knew was a trick to make the sheriff ask what she meant by "why." The sheriff, on the other hand, merely looked entertained as if they were putting on a show for his benefit.  It would be to their benefit not to underestimate his intelligence just because of where he policed.

"I suppose it is better for you to come in," the sheriff invited, holding the door open in invitation. Both agents stood on the porch waiting and the older man huffed a little before turning his back on them and walking further into the house. Prentiss and Morgan waited an extra few seconds before venturing across the threshold. There was nothing about the foyer that screamed "enter at your own risk" but they were used to looking beneath the surface of seemingly normal facades to see the heart of the darkest truths. At first glance, the pictures on the wall seemed the garden variety you saw in most people's homes, at least until they looked closer and saw it was really random shots of various people's profiles as if they had turned their heads at the last moment before the flash. In fact, the only people who smiled directly out at them were the sheriff, a dark-haired woman who must be his wife Melissa, Stiles, and  _his_ wife.

"This is ..."

"...so bizarre," Prentiss finished, her brows pulled together in a puzzled frown. 

"Their eyes flare brightly and would destroy the illusion of their humanity," a wry voice commented. The agents looked up to see the sheriff standing at the end of the short hallway, a bright head leaning out behind his legs to stare at them. 

"Pop-pop, why are they here?"

The little boy's hushed question wasn't as quiet as he probably thought it was. Sheriff Stilinski dropped a hand to the child and ruffled his hair.

"They need answers about what Daddy and Papa and the rest of the pack are doing."

Pack business seemed to mean something important because the boy stopped cowering behind his grandfather and shyly waved at them. His grandfather glanced fondly at the kid before beckoning the hesitant agents.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, but it was really for the best if you stay out of the pack's way until they resolve this. I know this goes against the grain of everything you believe in, but trust me when I say there is nothing you can do that would help this situation. If anything, you've made this harder."

The grim cast to the older man's face underscored his words as did the worry and fear wending its way through his words.

"Will you tell us exactly what the hell is going on?"

Prentiss' exasperated anger firmly bucked her usual iron control, which normally would surprise Morgan, but the way their day had gone, it seemed justified. 

"Oskar, it's ear muffs time so go watch "Frozen" in the living room until I tell you you can come into the kitchen, okay?"

Bright blue eyes that had steadily measured the agents turned towards older more faded blue eyes. "Really?" This was obviously a treat evidenced by the genuine delight crackling through Oskar.

"God help us all," the sheriff muttered before straightening and pointing a stern finger in the direction of living room. "Shoo."

"Yes Pop-pop!"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed and beckoned them to follow him. "Look, I'm sorry about the putting you to sleep and I promise I won't do it again. Okay?"

Morgan's curiosity had his feet moving before Prentiss, but he heard her follow a second later. They either had to trust their napping was the result of protectiveness - and nothing that happened since then had really disabused them of that notion regardless of the crackpot reasoning behind it - or run around without any true information and get killed that way.

"Fine but I reserve the right to hold onto my gun in case of any funny business."

Stilinski shrugged. "Okay, but not in view of my kid."

The agents followed the older man into a well-kept large open kitchen. The space was surprisingly modern with gleaming metal fixtures, a large island in the center, and an oven that wouldn't look out of place in a restaurant kitchen. The sheriff saw the surprise on their faces and chuckled. 

"The kitchen is the center of the home, especially when you're feeding an army, so all of the pack houses are equipped like this."

Prentiss settled into a chair fit around a large round table, which looked like it could easily seat twelve people, and placed her gun on the surface before her.

"Why do you keep saying pack?"

Stilinski leaned against the counter across from them and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I've been where you are: random deaths, facts that don't add up, and my kid smack in the middle of every mysterious event. I even arrested him a few times whenever his lying got so outrageous that I had to do  _something_ to break through his silence. I get it. I  _get_ it. But it doesn't change the facts. There is a vein of  _other_ that runs beneath the heartbeat of the world and usually people live in ignorance of it, except Beacon Hills is one of way points where the supernatural pools. It has to do with mystical energies following ley lines and the presence of a Nemeton, which can only grow in places of great magic." His hand dropped and weary eyes peered at them, heedless of the scoffing impatience that greeted him. "My kid is, for lack of a better word,  _mated_ to the Alpha of Beacon Hills, and Warden of the land. He is literally bound to the earth and subservient to its needs. It is a long and strange story on how  _that_ happened, something we don't really need to go into, but suffice to say the weirdness started when Stiles and Scott went out to the Preserve to find a dead body, and Scott was bitten by feral Alpha."

"Bitten?"

"Bitten as in chomped on like a fat man at an all you can eat buffet." Stiles might have inappropriate humor at times, but he came by it honestly.

"You expect us to believe this load of shit?"

"No, but you were in the SUV with Stiles tonight and he's now gone to the forest. You can't tell me you didn't see him...transform."

Morgan knew he would see the image of ... that thing... for a long time whenever he closed his eyes. Unlike Prentiss, whose faith in God had become strained and severed over the years, he still went to church every Sunday they weren't working a case. He wasn't a man of science or the rational like Reid and Rossi, though he believed in both, because Morgan understood there was more out there as willed by their Creator. Who was to say there couldn't be werewolves - because that was obviously what the sheriff was discussing - if that was in His plan? Plus it would certainly explain the hulking beast in the forest.

"What is Stiles?"

This was the most pressing question.

"An avatar of the Nemeton."

"What does that even  _mean_?"

"It means he is the literal manifestation of the Nemeton's power and can tap into the earth. He's more than a druid and less than a mage."

The cadence of the words suggested he was quoting someone. 

"My god, do you hear yourself? Avatars, werewolves..." Prentiss' outrage choked her.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but understand this. There is nothing for you in this town and the sooner you leave, the better we all are."

"And who will be punished for the deaths? The rapes?"

"The deaths and the rapes have two seperate causes. The deaths are caused by hunters capturing and putting down werewolves. Some of them legal kills, but a lot of them results of an ugly race war. The rapes, on the other hand, were caused by a being who came to Beacon Hill with the intent of creating the perfect body."

"Legal kills?"

"Wolves and hunters came to an accord about a century ago regarding rogue weres who ventured into human communities with the intent of maiming or killing. Hunters can take action then, and only then, though of course humanity being what it is, strays from hard fast rules with any hint of loopholes."

The Hale family fire suddenly made more sense. If Derek Hale was a werewolf, and if it was hereditary instead of a quirk of random genes, then his family would be comprised of wolves too; Kate Argent, who had a checkered past filled with arrests based on gun charges, must've been a hunter who decided to take the law, as it were, into her own hands.

Prentiss had latched onto another part of Stilinski's explanation.

"Being?"

"Being," was the dry response. "Tonight Stiles will put a theory to the test to see if his hunch is correct about what paraded around in Dr. Creaver's skin."

Morgan dropped a hand to Prentiss' shoulder when he sensed her about to vibrate out of the chair with the force of her emotions. 

 "You're suddenly being very helpful; why didn't you tell us any of this earlier?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Half of my department are in the pack and I couldn't risk a scene, but now you know the dirty secrets in Beacon Hills."  He straightened and nailed both with a hard glare. "Besides, everything is coming to a head anyway, so there's nothing you can to do avert it."


End file.
